


편지들 (Brought to You by Insomnia)

by Junhonk



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Epistolary, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, entirley Jae’s POV, insomniac! Jae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-24 00:46:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 33,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13202097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Junhonk/pseuds/Junhonk
Summary: The sun rises and falls just as the chest does, inhale exhale.Early risers, night owls, and those left behind.There really isn’t much to do when the rest of the world is asleep, so the insomniac writes.Writes to those close to him, and professes things he wouldn’t ever say. They’re all letters, for only him to see, and never for Him to read.





	1. Letter #1: an introduction

**Author's Note:**

> 편지들 or /pyeonji deul/   
> N. Letter (plural)

Letters from the Prison of My Mind  
#1: an introduction

Hello!   
I hate myself for it, but there’s really not much more I can do other than sitting here, bored out of my mind. So here we go, I’m writing to you from my own personal prison of insomnia! Straight from my bed, hot off the presses, here they are; my thoughts laid in front of your eyes.

I made a new playlist tonight, and it’s been treating me well, seeing as I think this will be another accidental all-nighter. Usually I can make it through a few hours and then I’m ready to sleep, but recently my body has been out to get me, so this doesn’t come as much of a surprise. Cause every now and then I stay up all night long, and it hasn’t happened in awhile, but I suspect tonight will change that.

Anyway, the playlist I made was inspired by looking out my window and at the snow-covered trees. Call me a sap or something along those lines, but I have emotions too. You even yell at me for pretending I don’t have any most of the time, but emotions aren’t very helpful are they? I suppose they’re how people can still be nice to others, but when someone acts on impulse because of an emotion, that’s hardly ever helpful. Maybe that’s the ultimate goal of a healthy mental balance, to battle against the extreme that’s programmed into you and balance your reactions with logic, or to become more empathetic. I know some people who have high emotional responses but aren’t very empathetic, and that’s so odd to me. Empathy is a very good thing, though I think too much of it could be another breaking point to the world. Like I’ve said, it’s the balance, the white and the Black Keys playing as a whole. You’re going to learn very quickly that getting off topic is a common thing in these letters.

Synapses fire and connections are made, so who am I to deny a solid connection? If it means getting off topic, maybe that’s okay. I’ll probably get to talk about more interesting things if I get off topic; provided you’re still able to follow along. Not that you’ll ever receive these letters though, they’ll be locked up and held close to me. Just Incase... just Incase I admit something or talk about something that I wouldn’t normally feel comfortable disclosing, okay? Okay, I’m glad you agree, Fictional Brian. Not that anything here isn’t fictional. Just let me immerse myself in this insomnia-filled world, as writing letters and aiming to never send them to someone is far more acceptable than sitting up in bed at 4am and talking to myself.

Did you know that in middle school I used to make secret calls to my best friend at the time? I think that’s around the time that I started staying up late. Of course as a child I would want to stay up late with my parents, but it was in middle school that I started loosing real sleep. It’s been so long since I’ve regularly gone to bed at 10:00pm, cause I think in eighth grade my normal time was 2:00am. Anyway, this friend I had was very close to me, and I honestly can’t remember how we got to be so close. We hardly talked in school, but then the second the bell rung we’d start texting. We had a few classes together, I remember in one class I was leaning against his legs while sitting on the floor and listening to a new album that had just been released. People in my grade were shipping gay couples that year, and I think some people thought we dated. I guess it’s plausible, but entirely incorrect.

The first conversation I remember having with him was trying to get him to tell me who he liked, and he liked this other guy that was kinda popular and very straight. The classic tragedy. Either way, we were just very close friends that connected on a higher level than most friendships at that time. So we would barely talk at school aside from the few classes we had together, but we would text until kingdom come. We’d talk about his love for the guy and I’d try to comfort him, telling him sweet, meaningless comforts. He’d help me through my anxiety and self-deprecating bouts just the same, telling me I really was worth what I had. Sometimes we’d talk about random things like cars and the stars in the sky. I told him about the cliche of feeling incredibly small while looking at the sky, and we’d talk about life. He told me once that all he wanted was to be loved, and I asked him why he hadn’t accepted the girl that had recently confessed to him. He told me that he wanted someone who wasn’t like that girl, and he told me that he wouldn’t mind it if I confessed, he said he’d probably say yes to me and date me. I reminded him of his love for the straight boy, and he said I was right, that it’s not good to have a cheap replacement.

What about you? Are you like so many of the friendships I’ve had before? If I confessed would you tell me that you would’ve dated me if it was last year? Or that you couldn’t accept because you’re in love with someone else? Would I still always be second-best?

We don’t talk about our love lives very often, Fictional Brian, so I’m not very sure how good of a match I’d be for you. Well, let me make a correction, we do talk about relationships and giving advice and holding hands and what the difference between a date and hanging out is, you just give me ambiguous answers that I can’t draw information from.

You tell me not to overthink what you say, but then when you promise to talk to me about it you never do. I guess your reassertions are helpful and calm me down for a bit, but I’m writing you this letter at 4:28 in the morning, what else am I left to overthink at this time? Space? Matter? Gravity? DNA? (The answer is that yes, I’ve thought about all of those, and no, I don’t want to go back there)

Actually, insomnia treats existential crises quite well. I had one just the other day, about dreams. You see, I have incredibly vivid dreams. Usually I can smell, touch, taste, see, and hear everything around me. A few years ago I had one dream that I’ll never forget. It was about me and my crush, and we were in a forest. It was early in the morning so the dew was still on the grass and a mist left mixed within the trees, and I could practically taste the morning rain. We’d been sitting on a hammock together and he sat there with me and just hugged me, hugged me so tight. I had a cup of creamed coffee in my left hand, nearly at my lips so that it invaded my senses, but the moment his arms reached around me I set it down and nuzzled into him, not caring about whatever happened to it. The only unfortunate thing was that he never kissed me, and I don’t get kissed often in dreams. I don’t get to hold hands in dreams either, and I think it’s my brain’s way of holding something as precious for each relationship.

I also had a dream that you died and I had to speak at your funeral once. It took me almost thirty minutes to figure out if the dream was real or not. That’s the worst part of having such vivid dreams, I’m often left wondering what is reality and what isn’t. I thought you died, honest to god I did, and I was too afraid to call you and find out, thinking I’d get your parents telling me that you died and we’d just finished with the funeral. That morning was terrifying, while the morning after the aforementioned dream was mostly disappointing, though I knew I’d never hug him in real life.

thats the crisis though, how do I know that what happens while I’m “awake” isn’t just an elaborate dream? We can’t every truly experience being a different person or seeing something from their eyes, so how do we know that other people aren’t just figments of our own imaginations? How can I be sure that my dreams aren’t the true reality? 

Remember the friend I told you about earlier? The one that I was very close to? Sometimes we’d call each other at 2:00am too. We’d always stay up late, our conversations getting more and more personal as the night went on. I forget why we called each other for the first time, probably just that one of us had a story but didn’t feel like typing. But that became more regular. We’d call each other when we got too tired to text, though we had to stay quiet so as to not wake up our parents. But the whole calling each other thing became so helpful for me. I remember I had a panic attack while in public by myself once and I called him, it was lovely that he just talked to me, helped me calm down faster than I would otherwise. There was also one time when I was outside looking at the stars and he called me, then he went outside too. There’s something so... beautiful about knowing we were relatively far from each other, but we were on the phone and connected by looking at the exact same stars embroidered within the inky black sky.

That actually reminds me of another time with another friend. We sat on her roof after breaking out of her bedroom through the window. It was raining, or at least it had been, so it was pretty wet and cold out there. But we still climbed out and talked for the whole night. We talked about everything under the sun, from guys to body image, to the moon, to the light pollution from the city. I remember around 4 she started getting very emotional about someone she liked and I feel like I remember crying. It’s possible that she cried and the rain just ran down my face as I curled into myself. It did start raining while we were out there, but we stuck it out and neither of us got sick. We just stayed there and poured our souls out to the sleeping world while raindrops wet our hair and mixed with tears, running down our faces.

There was a time in sixth grade where I stayed over at another guy’s house, I remember we switched phones at the beginning of the night after another of our friends fell asleep. I wanted to vent and swear, but my parents used to check my phone, so I said I wanted to switch with him just Incase they saw my messages. We talked about love from the beginning of night until the end, when we came up with code names and an inside joke, drinking lemonade to stay awake. It was 4am and also the latest I’d ever stayed up before. Hah, if only sixth grade me knew that 4am would soon become an easy feat, and that falling asleep was the real trick.

Now that I think about it, the stories that I’ve just grazed over were all created from bouts of insomnia. You know, there are certain things that one can find out about another person when they stay up late together. There’s really not another time when the world seems so at peace where you are, so that you feel you can let all of your emotions out. You feel like you could turn into a madman at any moment, but it doesn’t quite matter because no one else is awake to see it happen.

Ever since we’ve become friends I’ve been secretly disappointed that you always go to bed so early. Then again, maybe I should be grateful, because you’re always well-rested and definitely seem to be healthier than myself. But I guess I want to be selfish and sad that you’ll never talk to me at 2am, when we’re both a little less reserved. I wish we hung out at your apartment that late and just talked, whether it be out in the rain or to each other from the other’s phone. I wish I could call you at 4 when my insomnia hits hard, and spend more time talking to you than writing letters that you’ll never read. Though not very many wishes are granted like this, huh? It’s good for you, and it’s a healthy habit to have, going to bed on time. I just. I couldn’t fall asleep even if I really wanted to, there’s no escape, just me, myself, and the stars simmering in the sky.

It would be nicer if you were with me, hugging me like in my dreams that grace me every-so-often.

With more love than is probably okay in a platonic friendship,   
Park Jaehyung, or Jae for those shorter than me :)


	2. #2: On Hiding

Letters from the Prison of My Mind

#2: An Update on My 24 Hours

 

Hello again,

 

I think I mentioned that I’d be writing more often now? At least to satisfy my mind I will be. You see, I’ve got this weird need to justify myself to you, Fictional Brian. There’s really no reason behind it, especially considering the fact that we’ve been friends for far longer than just a little while. Once you know each other like we do, there shouldn’t be a reason to justify anything. It’s like we can read each other, calculating the other’s next movement, and the precent error is usually around 5%. Okay, call me out. Divide that by my “ego” and its around 20%. 

 

Think with me for a second. Think about the feeling when you’re sad, or in one of those weird moods that only one song or one of my playlists (eyyy) can satisfy; but then the only songs playing are upbeat and happy. The type of songs that are streaming through my earbuds when you laugh at me for dancing on the sidewalk. 

 

I think it’s kind of funny that you seem embarrassed when I do that actually. I remember the first time we went grocery shopping together; you had to buy a gift for your parents as they were flying in the next week, and I was on the lookout for my favorite chocolate milk.

 

Now you know that I cherish that milk only slightly less than I treasure you (you don’t know how much I cherish you, but I can use my own metaphors and indulge myself every now and then here, can’t I?) But you left me alone to go look for my milk in that store. I’d helped you find a variety box of American snacks, and we both walked to the counter. 

 

(Sometimes I wonder if the people in this heteronormative society thought that we were dating and buying things for our shared apartment. Can you imagine sharing an apartment? I think that’s something I’d maybe possibly be very interested in.) 

 

ANyway, we were standing at the register and you looked at me knowing that I’d been looking for the milk the whole day. Call me crazy, but I usually know which stores sell the milk, and I was nearly positive that the store we were in didn’t sell it. However you told me to go and check, just to be sure they didn’t have it. I nodded and zipped away, humming the upbeat song that was stuck in my head. You didn’t know this yet, but when I am bored / looking for something in a grocery store I tend to entertain myself by dancing. I’ll play with my foot work while walking, I’ll exaggerate my movements, I’ll drag my feet, a bunch of things. At this time I wasn’t very close with you yet, and we’d mostly just been talking online, so you weren’t properly acquainted with all of my mmm, I guess I’d say you weren’t used to my weirdness yet. 

 

So here I am, practically prancing down the aisle, stopping dramatically, and all in all making a fool of myself because aside from you (who I was _sure_ was still at the front of the store and was going to _wait_ for me) I didn’t care about who saw me acting like a crazy person. Suddenly, I see you rounding the shelves looking for me in the mirror, but I was too into the song in my head and the movements I was making to stop in time and you came around the corner and laughed. I saw the look of confusion pass across your face first though, and I wasn’t really surprised, but hearing you laugh if even at my expense made it all worth it. You came closer to me once I had stood straight and asked if I was like this all the time, and I asked what you meant. I think you said something along the lines of “are you always this dramatic?” And even though your words stung me in an odd way for 0.5 seconds, I laughed it all off and said that why not be dramatic when you can turn such a mundane task into something more enjoyable. Like turning following a map into a treasure hunt, just by adding a little fantasy and sparkle. 

 

I’m sorry, my writing seems to be even less organized than usual. 

 

The whole point of this was to think about the types of songs that make me groove on the subway when no one can see, or skip and dance down the sidewalk as I travel to my destination. Those songs playing while you’re in an angsty mood make your chest constrict, don’t they? It’s like you’re trying to indulge in chocolate when all you can taste is vanilla. It’s like trying to feel something that isn’t really there, and putting your all into it anyway. You don’t want to be sad, so you put on a happy song. It makes logical sense, doesn’t it? But it wouldn’t work. You want to feel something from another person so you trick yourself into thinking it’s really there, like one of those fake pregnancies. Humans really can fake it until they make it, but the question remains; Do you ever truly “make it”? 

 

Remember that one day I told you about? The day I found the random golf ball that sits outside of my universities library? You probably don’t, cause when I referenced the golf ball conversation that we'd had to tell this story in the first place you were lost. Isn’t it funny how I can remember so much from our conversations, but the words all seem to slip away from you? 

It would be hard for me to forget about telling you about the golf ball though, because that was the first conversation I’d had with you face-to-face that was longer than two or three sentences. Before that you’d approach me (for which I am eternally grateful) and tell me which snacks were best, you’d tease me or walk up to me and wave your hand in front of my face. All of these things always made me smile, though I don’t think you ever saw it. There was one day after the first time we’d hung out outside of school that you poked me in the back when you walked past, and then later you knocked on the window between us and waved. Those made me smile then, and even thinking about it now I smile. 

 

You’d been asking me why I didn’t talk to you in real life, and you thought I was ignoring you. I really wasn’t, more that I was afraid of making myself look like a fool. Loosing the screen means losing my cool, smooth, and witty persona, in reality I’m just me, and I was scared you wouldn’t want to talk to me once you realized what I was like when I couldn’t take a minute to think of a clever response. I didn’t want to make you feel bad though, so when you were alone in the library, I saw my chance and took it, leaving my area with Dowoon and Wonpil to walk down and talk to you. You were watching something, so it took me a little to work up the nerve to interrupt you. But I finally did it, and you smiled at me. I was afraid to look at you too much though, not wanting my eyes to land on a place that a friend’s eyes wouldn’t normally. I made eye contact with you and tried to balance it with looking out the window, but at one point you called me out and asked why I had been looking outside more than I’d been looking at you. I couldn’t tell you that I found you incredibly attractive in that moment, could I? So I brought up the golf ball and pretended I had been searching for it from a different angle. We talked for a little longer, or at least until I had to leave for a class, and you walked out with me. You don’t remember that very well though, do you? There seem to be a lot of things I tell you that you forget, and yet I find myself creating myself when I forget even a small detail you told me. I want to learn everything I can about you, and sometimes I can’t tell if I’m overenthusiastic or if you just don’t care enough and I care too much. 

 

When we went out for dinner and I asked you why you talked to me for the first time, we talked about the differences between people that hide from others, and those that welcome human contact. You like to say hi to everyone you pass if you know them, or even if you know them but haven’t spoken before. I like to go unnoticed, slipping into the background and never having to make unwanted greetings. Then at that same dinner you said that opposites attract. I’m pretty sure you didn’t mean anything by it, and it was just something you said to further the conversation; but it stuck in my head, and like a few other things you have told me, I just can’t seem to get them out. 

 

When I was telling you about the times that I’ve avoided contact as examples I mentioned the day that I managed to avoid everyone. Sometimes I still think back to that day, and wish I could do it more often. As pathetic as it might seem, often whenever I fade into the background, I want to see who notices that I’m not there. I did that at a family party once, and the only reason people noticed I was gone was because my father had asked, even though he knew I was hiding on purpose. I hate that I expect people to care once I’m gone, because I know that not very many people actually do, and thinking anything besides that just hurts. It hurts me every time I think about it. 

 

But the day that I hid, I don’t think I was expecting anyone to notice where I was. Actually, I was hoping that no one would notice my absence. The day prior to this, something had gone down with a friend and I felt like I couldn’t face her. I memorize my friend’s schedules out of boredom and just incase they become useful, and they did that day. I didn’t want to know if my friends noticed or cared that I wasn’t there, and I managed to avoid them all day until the end of the day when I had gotten a bit careless. I’d turned off my phone, and not looked at any messages I’d received. When I saw my friend she said she thought I’d died. I tried to laugh it off, thinking she was exaggerating, and I think she tried to as well but honestly, I still don’t know if she was just saying that as a phrase or if she genuinely thought that I had died. 

 

When I told you about this, your expression became unreadable (not that it was easy to read you before)

 

Sometimes I like to ignore the world. I just sit in my room and watch movies or write all day long, and don't answer any messages or go near social media. I did this recently, and in all honesty I wanted to see if I’d get a reaction from you. I never did, and I don’t think you noticed. Maybe you did notice when some guy didn’t open your snapchat and reply immediately with some lame response, but what loss would that be? I don’t think you noticed at all, actually, because I don’t think that you even check if I’ve opened or read your messages, because you don't care enough. Oh, how I wish I could be the same with you. I don’t like the whole business of checking whether or not you’ve answered me yet. It’s because of you that I decided to have my phone on silent all the time, because I got so sick of waiting to see a notification from you that I decided I’d just have to check the app later to see. It hurts me each time, and that’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it? 

 

I’m sorry that this letter is a bit messier, sometimes the words in my mind don’t work as well on paper, especially in regards to organization. The words that I think about as I scribble them out onto paper come rather fast too, with different senses firing new information at me, showing me old memories and new melodies. It’s all a part of the big process of memory, and this is how I’m choosing to commit you to memory. 

 

On the same night that we went out to eat, we talked about first impressions. You said that people see you as cold and brash, but once your friends have gotten to know you more they think that you are a good guy. I asked what you thought of me, and you said I was curious and chatty. But when we started talking about how people think of us in the long run you said, I guess you’ll find out. That’s another phrase that really sticks with me. Did you say it offhandedly, or would you really continue this friendship for much longer? I hope it’s the latter, I really, really, really hope it’s the latter.

 

Cheers to us in the long-run,

Jae

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my loves i hope this isn't too terribly confusing,,,  
> I wanted to capture another element of insomnia + emotions by doing this so I promise there is a method to my madness. 
> 
> Happy new year to all, and I hope that the year ahead treats each and every single one of you well !!


	3. #3: of body temperature

Good …. Well I guess it’s morning now, isn’t it?  
Congratulations, you actually had me stuck on what to write to you tonight. I sat up all by myself (as per usual of course) and all I could think of is what it would be like to have you with me.

Upon re-reading the monstrosities that I have already written, I realized that I have failed to mention our current relationship status. SO to end that confusion and clear the air for the little elves that read these letters (there are no elves I’m just trying to justify the fact that I write letters to myself almost every night now) we are “best friends”.

Cue tiny sarcastic laughing.

Honestly, if I were reading this right now I’d laugh too. Best friends? Jae, come on! That’s so cliche! I know, I know. I’m a cliche gay little child who is practically in l*ve with his best friend who’s straight. If this isn’t something that happens all the time I don’t know what is. Because that’s the thing with friends, it’s so easy to catch feelings. You talk to them a bunch and if you’re attention starved and they give you the attention you need? Bam, you like them. It’s especially sad for the children that like their same-gendered friends that wouldn’t feel the same way. It’s like a slap in the face, and then an uppercut to the heart.

Fictional Brian, did you know that the heart in your chest doesn’t actually catch feelings? It’s your _brain_ that likes to help you but them fucks lots of things up in the same task. (I’m not sure if that’s the word I want to use, and I’ll let you know if I come up with a better word later.)   
But anyways, our poor little heart in our chest near our lungs and other vital organs does nothing but try to keep us alive and healthy every day. Some people die of heart problems, sure. But that’s almost always due to an outside variable like genetics or too much salt. It’s our precious heart hiding behind our rib cage that keeps us alive from day-to-day and yet, we blame it for so much verbally. You hear people talking about their heart making things complicated, you hear them complaining of a broken heart, and you hear them saying that they’d much rather go without it. How could we blame our sweet little hard-working hearts, when all they’re receptive to are signals sent from the _brain_ because the _brain_ is what catches all of our feelings. It’s the _brain_ that makes life easier and yet so much harder. But we could never blame the brain, because that’s almost like blaming ourselves, and for so many people, accepting the blame for something that really sucks is difficult to do.

I’ve been thinking about my poor little heart in this way ever since I noticed it start beating faster when I really didn’t want it to. It starts racing whenever I check my grades, lurching whenever I read something sweet, clenching whenever I’m cold and can’t get warm, and pounding in my everything when I notice you close to me. My heart can’t help that it does these things, because it’s almost always the brain that is giving these commands. Blame the first thing that comes to mind. I think that’s a mindset that a lot of people possess around a lot of things.

Do you remember the time we were watching a horror movie last month in honor of Halloween? I had successfully avoided watching any sort of horror so you didn’t know that I am terrified of horror movies. But alas, the blissful ignorance hadn’t lasted for long. You were excited to see the newest horror movie in the theatre, and I won’t lie that I was mildly terrified that someone would come in the theatre and stab us all as a ~cinematic experience~.

When the movie came out, we were watching a youtube commercial together and a commercial came on, announcing the releasing of the movie. Your eyes lit up like mini christmas trees and you asked me if we could see the movie together, call me out but I only said yes because I wasn’t quite sure as to what all was going on. By the time I’d come to my senses and stopped staring into your eyes, you had done a little dance and were visibly very excited at the prospect of seeing this movie so there was no way I could back out. We planned quickly and decided to go see it that saturday. God, I’m such a fool.

As Saturday arrived, you and I took a bus to the theatre because ey gotta use those uni perks when you’re broke, right? The ride wasn’t that bad, besides some random child screaming the entire time and the old man next to us that smelled positively Rancid. We got there in two whole pieces, so I suppose that was our end goal. Also, the bus was packed so you were practically pressed against me and ay mi corazon. It wasn’t too cold outside, my pink sweatshirt was almost perfect, but you keeping your shoulder pressed against mine helped even more.

Walking into the theatre, the fear really began to set in and I realized that we were about to see a horror movie, and I, an intellectual, despise horror movies. Because they’re dumb. And because they scare me. And they get into my vivid dreams and they’re just really something that I don’t like experiencing twice, especially when the latter isn’t indefinitely behind a screen. So we walk into the theatre and buy the seats, popcorn following close behind. The tickets guide us to the proper theatre and we find seats in the fifth row off to the side. There weren’t many people in the theatre so I didn’t feel bad about taking the two middle seats in a four person row, but also, I’d probably spill something on the poor people that decided to sit next to me anyway.

All settled in, our popcorn set up and your jacket on the chair we just continued talking and playing on our phones. THe movie started and gOD DAMN the first sound effect was loud. We both jumped, and started laughing, our hearts racing already. The movie started after approximately 8374983274892894 commercials, and honestly, I didn’t want them to go.

The movie was so, so fake, and yet still so, so terrifying.

The reason I thought about this though, was the one time when that one ghost child monster thing came out of the closet *cough- isthisametaphor -cough* and scratched the door. The sound effect was almost nauseating it was so high pitched, and I covered my ears. I had been huddling into my lap, thinking of nothing but pure despair until I felt your hands wrap themselves around mine, your thumbs massaging my palms, and you pulled them off of my face. You were sitting to my left (why are you always on the left wtf) so you dropped my right hand, but you still held my left hand. Eventually you stopped massaging it, but you kept stroking it with your thumb and would squeeze it tighter when something popped out at us on screen. I’m nearly positive you could feel my heartbeat, and I hope to God that you think it’s just because of the movie. Because no, it was not just the movie, and yes, you lightly brushing your thumb against my skin made me wonder what it would be like to hold you whenever I’m cold or whenever I’m lonely. Would you make me feel as special as you did then?

So call me out, holding hands, watching people holding hands, or reading about people holding hands makes me want to cry little Jaesus tears.

I read once that people tend to balance eachother out when in a relationship. We already know that people with similar genetics as our own smell bad (supposedly, along with anyone that bathes themselves in axe bodyspray tbvh) but I also discovered that people tend to balance with body temperatures just the same. Remember when you told me that opposites attract and it stuck with me on a much deeper level than it should’ve? Well my friend, we like making our lives difficult because of thermostats right? Every time our hands touched or when we’d get close to each other, or any form of bodily contact really, you were always so warm. I remember the time we were window shopping and it started to rain. I was shivering because I’d just worn a sweatshirt, and you kept asking if I was alright, or if I was cold. Even though we were running I felt warm just because of your questions, isn’t that kind of sad but amazing at the same time? The cold person finds new ways to feel warm. Though I do feel kind of bad for the warm person, unless thinking about fuzzy and cute things must just make them cold? I find the whole idea of being a warm person a bit perplexing anyway.

This entire letter was just a way of telling you, Fictional Brian, that I want you to hold me. It’s been shown that I fall asleep faster when I’m being held. You always yell at me and claim you worry about my health because of my insomnia, so maybe I should just convince you to come over and sleep with me? Well, fight me, you know I mean I just want to be cuddled. I watched Dowoon and Wonpil yesterday, we were all together and just lazing around on our phones when suddenly Wonpil walked over to where Dowoon was lying and started spooning him. It was funny seeing him be the big spoon, sure. But it still kinda, ugh I don’t know. It just hurt me I guess, cause you’re probably the only one that I can go up to and cuddle like that. I still worry though, I’m always anxious with physical contact. I love it and I’m clingy but, I don't know if the person I’m with wants the same or if they’re comfortable, and you know very well I’d be caught dead before I acted out of strictly what I wanted in those situations…

So yes, please come over at 5 am Fictional Brian, bring hot chocolate, start a movie, and just cuddle with me. I’m kinda soft?

With a fluffy t shirt and only a stuffed animal to hold,   
Jaehyung

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2018 everyone, congratulations on making it through the past year, and let’s get through the next together ~   
> (I kept thinking about holding hands during this AH I’m soft)


	4. #4: on faith and destructions

Hola   
Well, it’s earlier than usual. Nearly 1am. It takes me until about 3 to get this emo but it was started by someone else in my defense.

You know what really sucks? Not being believed in.

Now I can hear you calling me out already but please Fictional Brian, pipe down for a minute and hear me out. I understand that I lie, sometimes even unnecessarily and just out of instinct. Sometimes I lie to get more information out of people, a special type of coaxing if you will. I can hear you asking me who gave me the right to not like being believed in when I lie so often. However, from a psychological standpoint, the reason someone lies is often because they need to feel appreciated or believed in, and no one ever thinks about that.

The differences between true and false are almost always small. Because even in a lie, truth has to be told. Also, how much do we currently agree to be true that is in fact very false? There’s nothing we can know to be absolutely and indefinitely true at our current position. Where there is unknown, there is room for falsified information as well as truthful information. Take the example that people didn’t know what lived in the ocean at one point and firmly believed that monsters lurked within its deep and murky waters. This is false, from what we have currently discovered, but at the time it was true because they simply didn’t know. The truth changes with humans, and with time. It’s quite simple.

Despite its ever-changing nature, some people put their faith so firmly within the idea of truth. They become morally insulted when they’re lied to, and often cannot accept change. Sticklers for the truth, we could call them. But even those sticklers probably wholly believe at least 3 lies to be the truth.

When I lie, it’s usually to see how much I can get away with being true, or because I don’t think the truth will be accepted as it should.

I think the most recent lie I told you was that I wasn’t interested in anyone.

But see the reason behind that was me not wanting to face the consequences of telling you the truth. It’s me lying because I was scared; so I guess that’s another cause of telling a lie. I remember reading something on WikiHow about talking to pathological liars, and it suggested asking the person why they feel the need for me to believe them, and just kind of overall asking why they feel the need to lie, but without actually accusing them of lying. I think that makes a lot of sense, cause you’re getting to the root cause of the problem instead of helping them close themselves off.

In middle school I dated a girl who lied constantly. She was also very sexually forward and interested in someone else, but I’ll delve into my unfortunate choices at a later time. Thinking back, she used to tell all kinds of lies, some that were obvious, and others that straight up made no sense because of what I knew and had seen. I kind of wish I had been as interested in people as I am now, so that I’d know how to talk to her. I used to tell her I knew she was lying, but she’d get really defensive and close off, saying that no one liked her because no one believed her. Although honestly I do believe that she used the lies and her defenses to get attention, sometimes I think of Alterior motivating factors in those situations. What is it within each person that drives them to lie?

I realize that I’m digressing, but there’s something that keeps coming to mind as I’m writing this and I feel like if I don’t get it out now, I never will.

I think about what it would be like to kiss you more often than I should. I remember the basic logistics from dramas I’ve watched and my brief dating stint as a child, so I’ll think about what it would be like, where I’d turn my head, and how I’d hold you.

I know a lot of the actual logistics of kissing is instinct and you decide in the heat of the moment. My hands go where is most comfortable for both of us in the given position, and my head tilts the opposite way of yours. It’s a rhythm, almost like a dance. Thank god you don’t have to use your feet, cause you and I both know that would be a disaster.

Sometimes I think about how it might happen. What kind of things we do would lead to that? Well, sometimes we sit on the playground swings together, we go to movies, ride the subway, there are more situations that would work that not really.

Honestly, I imagine what your lips would feel like placed across mine, if they’d be soft or if they’d be bigger than mine. I imagine the feeling of pulling away and catching my breath through our shared oxygen while our foreheads are pressed against each other. I could pull you back in with one arm sneaking around your waist, and my other hand would go to your cheek. My thumb would rest there, stroking your cheek, and in an ideal situation nothing would be said, we would just look into each other’s eyes and just know.

We’ve held hands thrice, and unfortunately it’s enough to fuel my overactive imagination. I wrote about the first time we did actually, cause we were ice skating and I wanted to remember everything. That was mostly the only time, besides other quick moments when we’d measure the size of our hands and all I could think of was what would happen should I lace our fingers together. I couldn’t do that though, that’s a bit bold for my taste, though I’m told that not being bold is why I lose everyone I love to someone else. It worked out for Jane Bennet and Mr. Bingley, why can’t it work for me? You know, when I really want to picture us holding hands again I pull my right hand across my torso and pretend that it’s your hand lacing with my left. An overactive imagination.

Ice skating with you was very problematic for my heart, to be very honest. Because for some godforsaken reason you decided to lace our fingers each time we held hands, and that’s not normal for friends that help friends ice skate. We would be skating around and at first I wasn’t able to keep myself steady, so I went straight to the wall to get my bearings. I figured I was ready though, and you’d promised to help me, so I reached out for your hand and you grabbed it. We started for a little, you turning around and holding both of my hands to see if that helped. Apparently I was decently fast though, cause you seemed to have trouble keeping up with me. Every now and then I’d ask you to show me something, fascinated by the fact that you could do things on ice, and the first time you came back to me you laced our fingers. Now I’m not a skater, but I also am not a fool and I know that lacing fingers is very inconvenient for helping someone from falling. You told me I kept letting my legs get ahead of me, but I think they were just trying to keep up with my heart, which had fallen out of my chest onto the ice in front of me. But see, if it stopped with holding hands I wouldn’t mind as much. It doesn’t though, because any time I was about to fall you would end up in front of me and try to steady me or catch me. There were two times you couldn’t, but there was one time where I could’ve sworn I was definitely going down, but you swerved in front of me and held me by my arm and my waist, and my arm went around your shoulder. That’s practically a hug. You were laughing and I could see the smile in your eyes as you held me steady and waited for my signal that I was alright to continue. All I felt was my skin tingling around my waist. Not that I hadn’t felt it while we held hands before we had even gotten onto the ice rink, or when you’d hold my arm to make sure I wouldn’t fall, or when I watched you explain something with your hands and I saw our fingers interlaced, or when you’d skate closer to me so our hands came up to eye level, or when you smiled at me, or when you’d look at me with the most care and kindness and other various emotions in your eyes, when you checked all over me with so much concern laced within your gaze that it made me shiver and I couldn’t look back at you. But we’d pretty much hugged, and you’d literally saved me from falling on my ass yet again.

Sometimes I think about that hand around my waist and wonder what it would be like to cook something for you, and feel your hand sneak around my waist as you walk closer to me, and your chin would be on my shoulder, watching me cook. And I’d probably burn the food. Because I was too busy looking at you and wondering how far from our current boundary it would be to just kiss your forehead. How far would it be, do you think? Cause to me it seems like miles.

That rando who’s fallen for you both literally and figuratively,

J*e

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to all of the people out there that aren’t told insomnia is all in their heads by their parents / friends / guardians. We love you, and we believe in you.


	5. #5: on whatever comes to mind

Ey-Yo

Well it seems as though all sense of organization and alike have been left in the last few letters and probably won’t be coming back. Either way, I’m still being held prisoner to my insomnia. I’m still up until 7am getting nothing done besides a bit of reading for myself and writing a letter to you, Fictional Brian. Did you know that writing one (1) of these takes me almost an hour or two? Of course it depends on the night and how much I have to say, but I put a solid amount of effort into this. I’m just so glad that you’re able to read then Fictional Brian, else I’d feel like I’m good for nothing. Oh, but wait! You don’t actually exist and no one reads these letters. I guess it’s good that I’ve already accepted that I’m good for nothing!

Today I had to take both the bus and the subway again, but it was so incredibly boring. My phone died so I couldn’t listen to music or write, and there were several couples on both modes of transportation. On the bus I saw a couple in the back holding hands. They seemed so happy and yet so unsure and delicate about the placement of their hands. I think it might’ve been one of the first times they’ve held hands, whether it be public or private. I liked seeing their shy demeanor as a whole, but everything makes me think of you.

It’s kind of pathetic really. Sure we text a bunch, but who is to say some other person doesn’t text you the same amount or more. Who is to say I’m even important to you? Sometimes I feel like the only reason you respond is because you’re too nice. Then again, I know you to call things out when you see bullshit, so I feel like you wouldn’t go to the trouble just to make me think in an okay person.

It’s a bit unsettling how unsure I am of myself. I know my abilities, I can hear a note in a song and know if I could hit the note. I can generally see something and know if I’m going to be able to draw it. But when it comes to this, my friends help me with practically every thing. They can convince me of something and then otherwise in the same breath, and I’m left there totally disregarding my instinct. My instinct that is usually correct in its first breath, but then is hidden by childish wants and pathetic slivers of hope that cling to my fingers and the strings of my heart.

It’s a ballad night. Nothing seems to be going right, and I had a migraine earlier today. I lied there alone in my bed just wanting to knock my head off of the nearest wall, the pain between my eyes and my forehead growing by the second. I know what it’s like to have bad vision, but when I get migraines I’m fully blind in a certain area of my vision. It’s like an ovular ‘c’ and everything within it is destroyed. As the migraine starts, the area becomes silver and it’s almost as if there’s television static that clouds the area. But as it continues, the area becomes more of an opaque blur, if you think of a ‘band-aid’ feature on photo editing where the background color is inserted and stretched, it looks a bit like that, but with clear and silver sparkles clouding the edges.

I’m having more trouble focusing than normal. Maybe it’s the bittersweet guitar chords that flow through my headphones and twist through my mind. It’s so interesting how music can foster emotions, isn’t it? That music can remind us of things? There’s a song that still reminds me of a trip I went on in eighth grade. There’s a song that reminds me of being young and visiting my grandmother’s grave. There’s a song that reminds me of singing a child to sleep, and there’s a song that reminds me of staying up late in the dead of winter. There’s a song that reminds me of you too Fictional Brian.

Usually when songs remind us of certain events, we don’t realize they do until a while after the actual thing, and just hearing that melody can bring back memories, whether we want them or not. I think it’s very interesting that some memories are so outlined in our brains. I remember eating a very big BLT as a child, and how to find my elementary school’s nurses office. I forgot about my best friend in first grade. I don’t remember much from that year, but up until middle school I thought it was sufficient enough. The toxic girl that I dated was friends with him, so we ended up hanging out more often than not.

I knew his mom. She worked at the school, and was the person they asked to help me. The first time I talked with her was when the school wanted to find out more about the sexual assault I’d experienced. It was embarrassing, and if not for the friend that had witnessed it, I wouldn’t have ever said anything. Talking to adults in your elementary school about being sexually assaulted is not something that is easy. It’s demeaning. It’s like an awakening to the fact that the world is truly shit, and nothing can be done to keep that out of any place. There isn’t a safe haven, just certain people that are decent enough to not consistently call you names and try to hurt you. Although, there isn’t a single person who hasn’t hurt me in some way, myself being the number one culprit for that I suppose.

Something that I’ve realized in my years is that no one actually cares about other people, just themselves. Sure, there are people that often worry too much about others and how they feel, but even then that person would rather talk about their own pain, wouldn’t they? It’s easy.   
You can care for other people all you like but when someone asks you about how you’re doing, most people have no inhibitions about thinking about themselves, and something similar about talking on the topic. Of course, there are people with trust issues, or those that don’t open up easily, but usually in a life or death situation they’d save themselves, it’s only natural after all. I really hate it though. I hate that because I’ve never experienced anything outside of my own head it feels like the world will come crashing down when something ‘bad’ happens to me. However, words are incredibly relative, and something bad for me could be a relief for another person. Why should I think I’m sad if my dad is addicted to drugs and contemplating suicide, there’s undoubtedly someone else who has experienced something worse, isn’t there? It’s so easy to get wrapped up in our own problems and forget about the fact that no one else wants to hear about them. I know that the things on my mind are often things I vocalize, and recently you’ve been on my mind like nothing else. I talk about you all the time unwillingly, and it’s a bit sad. It’s almost like everything I see relates to you and I always want to tell another story. They’re hardly ever funny to people besides me, and half the time I’m buzzing with energy but the person listening just wants me to stop talking. But in the same breath, it’s just as easy for someone to talk about a hardship that they have endured themselves whether it be connected to you or not. There is no other human on this earth that knows exactly what it feels like to stay up into the wee hours or the morning exactly like you do, and no one knows what it is like to wake up as you.

The song that reminds me of you is a ballad. It’s the song that everyone sings at karaoke and it dampens the mood. It’s the song that talks about wanting to be your everything, but not being able to. Sounds like us, doesn’t it?

I can’t tell if its easier for me to write to you today, or if it’s harder.

Either way, congratulations on your new girlfriend Fictional Brian, I hope it all goes well.   
Yours for the friendzoning  
Jae

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao whoops  
> Come yell at me on twt or even just discuss all of the things w me I love talking to you all  
> Twitter: @junhonkmyhorn


	6. #6: on hope and what could've been

Hey Fictional Brian, 

I want to start this one out by saying that although I am very good at remembering small things about other people, I am not good at remembering things that I have talked about with someone already. Even though you’re not really reading these, I’d like to apologize for mentioning certain things multiple times, because it’s easy to forget things like that in the heat of the moment. Chances are, if I tell you something twice it means that I found the event or the situation to important in some way. I might’ve thought that it was funny, sad, fantastical, or it could be that I hold it very dear in my heart and it is a big part of who I am as a person. Chances are, if I’m telling you something twice it means that you’re important to me too. 

 

You’re probably laughing as you read this, thinking about all of the things that I have remembered that you wouldn’t have expected me to. I remember so many things that you’ve told me while we were texting, like the fact that when you were little you thought that the restaurant Subway actually lead to the underground subway, I remember that your mom wanted you to fly back to Korea because she thought you had a stomach problem and hospitals are cheaper there than in the States, I remember that you don’t like double dates because you think that they’re bad luck (which is something I’d like to further discuss with you), and I remember that you like movies a lot more than reading books. Sometimes when stuff like this comes up in conversation and I mention it you seem bewildered at the fact that I can remember all of it. I like being able to remember things like this, because I know it makes most people feel special when I remember specific things such as what type of chocolate they like. I’m not sure if the skill is amplified with you, but sometimes I wish you were like that too. Sometimes I wish there was someone (you) who would remember all of the little things I tell them, and what I like and don’t like. I wish there was someone who would make a playlist for me and recommend songs that they  _ know _ I’d love because they take note of my tastes in music. But then again, I also wish that someone would find me attractive and love me the way I’d love them, and that hasn’t happened. 

 

It feels really nice when someone remembers the things that you’ve done with them, and asks about them later. Maybe it’s like that person really cares about you, and you know that they were paying attention to you. But you didn’t even remember that I performed in a music showcase last year that you were also in and MCed. 

 

You know, sometimes I hate that I am so audio-oriented. If someone has a good voice they stick out to me, and in this day and age it’s rare to find the perfect 10. The fact that I so actively appreciate people that can sing isn’t very nice sometimes, because it sticks with me. At the showcase last year that I mentioned a second ago, students were allowed to sing, dance, and play instruments. There were a few other guys that had signed up, and when I signed up as well I noticed most of them said that they would be playing an instrument. There was a female-male duet as well, but nothing other that I had seen. On that fateful day, I had been practicing my song for days, trying to memorize the lyrics perfectly. I was writing them in my notebook and humming the melody wherever I went. Naturally, as I sat in the auditorium listening to the other musicians, I felt jittery and my stomach was light with anxiety. The other acts before me went by in a bit of a blur, which I feel bad about, and still do. 

 

I looked like a mess that day. My hair was blonde at the time, but I went through a small phase where I’d added a streak of blue. It wasn’t in place and my face had little spots of red from my acne. I was mildly confident, though I mostly felt like I was going to mess up the lyrics. The music had started and my fingers found their place on the neck and body of my guitar, muscle memory kicking in. When the timing was right, I started singing the words, the lyrics and the melody seemingly flowing out. I was almost too nervous to look out into the audience, and I didn’t want to meet any eyes that I was unfamiliar with. My voice nearly cracked in one spot, and sounded flat in the next, my pride diminishing as I was nearly finished. Yet, as I walked off of the stage I thought that I had done well, and didn’t realize until I watched the video Wonpil had taken that I was actually terrible. 

 

I only waited for a few more songs until I watched as you took your guitar up with you just as I had done. Back then I knew your name, and I knew what you looked like. I had thought that you were attractive, but I kept it to myself, thinking that it was pointless to voice to my friends. You walked up there after your friend had introduced your act, and you began to play. It was very hard to look at you. For some reason I thought that it would seem less obvious if I just didn’t look at you the entire time you played, for fear of my face turning red while I watched, and even worse, you looking at me with my face flushed and my eyes expressing nothing but awe. Of course I snuck looks though, because never looking up felt almost as difficult as watching you the whole time. Maybe it’s because of this that I remember your performance, and you might not remember mine. You weren’t starstruck.  

 

Since then I’ve heard you sing maybe twice more. Once at another showcase (I didn’t sing at that one) and a twice more when you were singing along to a song or with someone. After we went to see a movie the first time, you offered to drive me home, and we’d talked about a particular song that you liked so you played it in the car. You had discovered it recently, but I’d known it for almost a year as it came out then. I started singing shortly after the song started, and as I was humming quietly, I heard you join in. I almost stopped humming altogether, wanting to hear your voice more clearly, but I felt that if I stopped you would too. I kept humming, and I haven’t forgotten how we sounded together Fictional Brian. I haven’t forgotten at all. 

 

I think about that time a lot actually. We even have a song that we talk about, and that both of us like. You sent a video of you singing it at karaoke, and I really didn’t know how to respond. I think I ended up saying “nice vocals” or something along those lines, but that’s because all I could think of was how much I wanted you to sing to me, and just me. Now that I think of it, I wonder if I am the only one you sent the video to, and if you thought of me when you sang the song. Were you the one that suggested it? Did you think about sending it to me even before the song started? The lyrics remind me of our situation, but I’m not sure if you think the same. 

 

What do I want? 

 

I want to sit next to you, the music playing lightly as you drive. Stars are poking out of the thick blanket of night sky, and street lamps are the only source of artificial light. The warm light passes over our faces in patterns, sweeping from the front of the hood and past our heads, illuminating our fingers that are laced over the armrest in the center. I’m leaning slightly out of my seat and on your shoulder, and you’ve got one hand on the steering wheel. Our song is playing and my eyelids flutter shut, your voice washing over me like a cool spring breeze. 

 

I want you to be laying in my lap while we sit on the couch, my fingers running through your hair and there’s a contented smile gracing your lips. Your day had been a bit stressful but coming home to me had made it that much better, and we’d just eaten something I’d made. One of your favorite foods, of course. We’d watched a bit of a movie but movies only last for so long, and it had left us on the couch, your head resting on my thighs, and my hand pacing through your locks the way I know you like. You’d cheered up, but the evidence of exhaustion is still on your face to I begin singing lightly. I sing our song and hope that you remember that it’s our song, and don’t focus on the lyrics. No, you just focus on my voice. 

 

I want you to get up on stage and smile directly at me, your eyes refusing to leave mine as you begin to sing. I want to be able to stare and let my face turn red as we both fall into the sound of your voice. I want to go up and sing and look at you, and I want to see your affection shining in your eyes. I want you to finish your song and walk off stage into my arms, I’ll kiss your forehead and you’ll hug me tight. 

 

Really, all it is is that I want things that I can’t ever have. 

And it really fucking sucks that writing all of those scenes down and acknowledging how often I think about them made me feel so incredibly guilty.

Because who am I to come between you and your girlfriend? 

 

Lim Nayeon. 

She’s been in the picture for much longer than I have, right? You two have been friends since childhood, and I only came around a few months ago. (Isn’t it disgusting how much unrest I can create in just a few months? There’s really no reason why anyone should ever like me. You in particular.)

 

She goes to a different university than us, but what’s odd about her is how little you talk about her. You talk about your old friends like it’s nothing, but even before you started dating her I wouldn’t have known she existed if I hadn’t heard from my own friends. You say that she’s one of your closest friends though. 

 

Remember when we went ice skating together? I doubt that if I asked you about the reason you laced our fingers you’d even remember that we did. But you did lace our fingers, in fact as I remember you laced them several times, and even while we were off the ice. That was the weekend after you came back from a trip with her. My foolish self thought that that meant something, but now that I ask you when you and Nayeon got together, you said that people kept asking if you two were dating when you were on the trip. For God’s sakes you went to another  _ country _ with her, and I’m dumb enough to think that a) you might have liked me, and b) that you holding my hand meant something. But it was nothing, it’d all been nothing. This is the reason why no one ever likes me, which for some reason you fail to comprehend. Because I’m practically starved for attention, but when I should be returning the attention I don’t because I don’t think the person actually notices or cares. I don’t think people ever have the intention of dating me, and even if I do I treat them like my friends. Maybe that’s where I’m going wrong. I’m friendzoning myself. 

 

I’m afraid of exposing myself and how I feel as well. I usually air on the side of safety, and that applies so disgustingly well to this type of situation. I remember one of the most daring things I did was continuously make eye contact with you during a chorus concert. But I’m not even sure if you were actually looking at me, or if you were looking at your friends nearby. The same night I was planning to talk to you, but I kept crawling back into my shell, and though I’d wanted to stand by you and talk to you, I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Would things have turned out differently if I could’ve?

 

But even then I’m always second best.

 

Call me whatever you want, but I really just want to be first in something. I’m not anyone’s closest friend. I’m not particularly good in any subject so that I am an expert that others come to me for help. I know that it’s unhealthy and I know that it’s greedy, but I want to be so good at something that I am unrivaled among my peers. I know that’ll never happen though, since it’s not in my nature to be that good at things. People tell me that I should be confident in my singing, but when I am people tear me down again and all I can do is find faults in everything I do. 

 

I just thought of this now, but maybe I should appreciate the fact that very few people actually remember small details about me like I do others. It makes it easier for me to protect myself, or isolate myself when I want to. It makes it easier to pretend that I like things when I really don’t, and just keep quiet, appreciating the effort. 

 

I want to know more about what you like and don’t like. I want to be able to remember more about you and how you think and perceive. I want to know if you prefer your water to be iced or lukewarm. I want to know how you like your coffee, if you even like it. I want to know what kinds of tea you like and how often you drink them. I want to know if you prefer acoustic ballads over upbeat techno. I want to know what your ideal weather is like, and what you’d want to happen on a perfect first date. I also want to know your birthday, because you still haven’t told me. 

 

The last time we hung out together, I had already found out that you were dating Nayeon and it really felt different. I was starting to become more comfortable, but then when we were together we didn’t make nearly as much physical contact. I’m not sure if you noticed, but we stood further away from each other than we had before, and it hurt me more than it should’ve. Maybe it was just in the beginning, because by the end we were back to standing a little bit closer, though the distance was still there. When we were laughing because of something I’d said you were closer to me, and while we had been inside you showed me something on your phone and leaned closer to me. I’m honestly not sure if it was both of us creating the distance, or if it was me. One thing I did notice though is that you were texting Nayeon while we were talking, and though I don’t want to say anything against it, it still kind of stung. 

 

You hadn’t mentioned anything about my hands either. You kept talking about how big my hands are, and we’ve compared their sizes each time. I should’ve asked if you were so used to someone else’s that they seemed so different. At least we mentioned our joke of me being a vampire, and now you know that I’m exceptionally weird and dance down grocery store aisles. 

 

I’m not sure if you’re able to tell, but writing this is a bit harder tonight. I keep stopping to think, my thoughts not whisking me away like they usually so. My throat is tight and honestly I feel a bit like crying. The fact that even admitting to myself that I like you brings so much guilt to my heart hurts me more than anything. Because it’s not enough to have a shred of hope that shines brighter each time a friend tells me they think you liked me, and it’s not enough to have just told me that you didn’t like me. No, you didn’t say anything in one way or the other. The whole thing was ambiguous and I didn’t know if that meant I should give up hope or not. I kept hoping, reaching, dreaming, and wishing while ignoring what was right in front of me. The little shred of hope was glowing bright only to have you tell me that you’d started dating a girl from another university. She was your best friend, and someone that matched you well in both age and personality. With each fact that came crashing down on me, the sliver of hope dimmed, and now it’s as black as the night sky that we once stood under hand-in-hand. 

My breath is still caught in my throat and my face still hurts, a headache forming in my temples. I am nothing if not happy for you. One of the most beautiful things about caring for someone is the ability to feel satisfied through their happiness. Even if I would’ve felt much happier should I have been the one you chose, the fact that you chose her means that you’re happy with her. That’s what I want for you at the end of it all, for you to be happy. I want you to continue to be happy, and therefore I hope everything goes well with you two, so that you’re not hurt or sad or angry or betrayed. I’ll just find a way to get over you in the meantime, so that I am not something that could possibly hinder that happiness. 

 

I’ll get over this. I’ll do it for you, so that you have nothing to worry about, and a friend that cares for you should you need him. I’ll do it for her, so she doesn’t have to be concerned with the idea that I’d even possibly come between the both of you. I’ll do it for myself too, so that thinking of you doesn’t feel wrong, and because I am tired of my heart racing, my throat closing up, and my vision blurring. 

I’ll get over you. 

At least, I’ll try. 

 

Park Jaehyung

A Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...  
>  i'm sorry
> 
> (peep @ Taeyeon's 11:11 being the song I had on repeat)  
> (come yell w me on twt @junhonkmyhorn)  
> (thank you so much for all of the kudos and comments I absolutely love responding to all of them ahhh I love you all sm)  
> (school is starting up again so that could mean that my insomnia spikes or becomes less often,, so just a heads up if I don't update as often. Though considering I write these at like 3/4/5 am I think we will be okay )


	7. #7: together with melancholy

I'm back,  
Have you missed me? No, no you haven't because you don't have the capacity to miss people Fictional Brian. All you're able to do is not exist and pretend to read my letters so I feel like someone out there cares.

Today I managed to convince you to get coffee with me for the first time in awhile. I was a bit late to find you because my nerves had caught up to me from being so excited. Isn't that lame? Each and every time we decide to do something together and set a date for it, the moments leading up to it are filled with butterflies, and the time couldn't move slower. Easily, the highlight of my week turned into an obstacle. 

I know I talk about it a lot, but it always seems to connect to whatever I'm thinking of. I remember the day we had planned to go ice skating I had a class in the morning. Usually that class is the best thing to happen in a week, but I found myself waiting as the clock ticked by. Wonpil, Sungjin, Dowoon, and I all got food after the class, and all I could think about was the fact that the time I had to leave at was getting closer and closer. We were meeting in another part of town so I had to take the bus, my route all planned out on my phone, and the app giving me a suggested time to leave. I hadn't gone that route on a bus before, so taking in a different side of the city was exciting, though I couldn't help being more observant than ever, trying to see when we were getting close, and counting down the stops in my head. I was so excited that Wonpil told me he could tell all I wanted to do was leave when I was still with them. I still feel bad about that. 

Honestly, just thinking about the feeling of getting to hang out with you brings anxiety to my stomach. Though, there was something different this time. I know I said excitement earlier but, this time it wasn't quite the same. This time, instead of wondering what might possibly happen that could draw us together, I wondered if anything might happen that would tear us apart. It all changed for me, the guilt and sadness clawing up at my throat and eating out all of the bliss that had been lurking within my emotions previously. 

Sungjin even said that I used to smile more often. 

This time as I waited, I felt the anxiety that I do before something bad happens. It's the anxiety that makes a home for itself when shit is going down, and I know that I can't do anything about it. Isn't it fascinating how your pain receptors and your brain know exactly how you feel when your conscience doesn't yet? Previously, I had thought that I was just as excited as ever, but when I realized that there was a potential misunderstanding I felt the pure anxiety. I sat there, waiting for the minute to arrive when I had to meet you. You were a bit late, because I had arrived earlier than I'd expected, so I sat there just waiting for you. Waiting and letting the anxiety pile up in my stomach. 

The song I played while I sat there ended up being the perfect song for it, and it kept playing as I walked out to meet you. It's a really good song, and even though I realized that it was about becoming a better human because you've found someone you love, I don't really care. I just listen to the tones behind the song and fall into it. Kinda like what happened with you, isn't it? Detrimental, isn't it? 

Last night I had a dream about you. Remember how I said my dreams are vivid? Of course you don't actually remember but, they are. Well I kind of feel like my brain played me with this one. It almost felt like I was watching the events of the dream happen from behind a fog, even though I was in it. Sometimes I was 'me' and I was making the decisions and everything, but then sometimes I'd find myself watching from an inhuman vantage point, or I'd see myself do something, almost like I was watching a movie. 

I'm pretty sure the dream took place before this whole mess happened because you seemed genuinely happy to be around me. Us and a bunch of our friends were planning to go on an overnight camping trip, and we were packing all of our stuff into the car and getting ready to go. Apparently you had actually suggested that we were in a tent together as it was being divided up, and I hadn't found out until later. Basically you were helping me pack and you kept smiling at me, and I think we sat next to each other in the car as well, and I'm nearly positive I had just begun holding on to your arm and falling asleep when I jolted awake for no apparent reason. I think the guilt just rides so deep into my conscience. 

You know, why do I feel so guilty? That's one question I have. There was no 'claim' I had on you, I just thought that something could've happened between us, and you practically confirmed it yourself, so why do I feel like I am doing something wrong. Of course, now as this continues while you're in a relationship I have reason for it to feel morally incorrect. I suppose on the bright side you won't catch me committing adultery any time soon... But yes, I don't understand why liking you before I found out feels so wrong now. Perhaps it's the mix of knowing that (whoop whoop big surprise Jae, who could've seen this one coming) I wasn't chosen by you. It just kind of feels weird cause... Well never mind, but I just... I wish you told me more about you and Nayeon before. I heard nothing about her, ever. It just seems so out of the blue and off. Maybe it's just me overthinking things again, as you know I have a lovely tendency to do! 

Tonight doesn't seem like a very heavy night. After the last two letters I feel like I'm recharging until I let it all out again. I re-read those letters Fictional Brian, and they make me feel like a fool. I see myself admitting things in the heat of the moment to drive my point home and it scares me. It really scares me. I know in real life I'm not that convincing, but I'm half-decent at getting information out of people, and trying to express how they should feel. I think some of that transfers into this, where I just get so worked up that all I want to do is let everything out. I want you to feel my pain as you read this, I want you to know exactly how I felt when I went on those not-actually-a-date dates with you, and exactly how I felt in the split second that I discovered I'd come in second yet again. It's like getting silver in the Olympics every year. I try my best, I do well and I'm almost there, but I'm just not good enough and suddenly no one remembers me and I'm left for nothing. I'm left to build myself back up and become known once more, only to have the cycle repeat once again. It's all about feelings. 

I've lost so many people because my emotions got involved. Whether I told them or something happened so that they found out, I have had what feels like the world blowing up in my face before, just because some small emotion found it's way into my brain, and multiplied like the cancerous feeling it is. I'm sitting here laughing lightly at my letter because of how sickeningly correct it is, isn't that sad? I've got work sitting around me, the WiFi is flourishing cause no one else in their right mind is up at this hour (another way to prove that I am not in a good state of mind) and yet I am sitting here, on the floor of my dorm, staring at a piece of fucking paper like it's my child just because a specific writing utensil that had been used by particular hands to form specific words on that very same paper. Earlier today I thought about what it would be like should anyone find these letters. My throat started tightening again and I felt my headache come back to my temples, the thought of that paralyzing fear had come to haunt me and I can't stop thinking about it. 

I keep my letters nice and pristine. They're straight from my notebook and into my hands, then once covered in graphite I lift up my mattress and hide it underneath. I am the only one in my dorm who is allowed to change my sheets, so no one looks under my bed for anything, and no one finds the letters that contain so, so many things that I could never even begin to admit to in real life. Sometimes, when I'm in the middle of class or walking down the street in a particularly peaceful manner, I think about what would happen if you found these. I honestly don't know what you'd think, though I could guess. It seems like you might just ignore them and then ignore me, maybe you'd confront me about it, maybe you'd suddenly start cutting off contact between us, maybe you'd laugh in my face and call me something I'd never want to repeat. Isn't it mildly disgusting how I don't think I could hate you even if that happened? I'd just try to justify it all, and end up hurting myself worse than now. 

I'm supposed to be writing an essay right now, but the music I chose to study with didn't help with my emotions. I feel like I flip-flop my emotions. Everything gets weirder the later it gets, and there's nothing I can really do to stop it. Then, in the morning I'll see the evidence of what I did or felt and I'll feel shame like no other. Maybe that's another thing that would cloud my mind if you found these letters. All I could think about would be how spur of the moment my thoughts are, how unorganized, how based on sickening emotions they are. Late-night conversations are kind of like that too. You know, the kind of conversation that can only happen at past two am when all of your feelings are practically bared on your chest for the world to read and see. I suppose that alludes to the fact that it takes so much energy to simply hide our emotions. It takes so much work to ensure that you're thinking logically and reminded of potential consequences. I seem to have more resolve as the night goes on as well. During the day I might be the most indecisive person that lets their friends make all of the descisions, but at night I could get up the resolve to confess to you if I got enough convincing. I think it might be because of my want to be someone different. Someone a bit more collected, poised, cute, calm, understanding, empathetic, smart, the list goes on. 

It's raining now, Fictional Brian, and you know how much I love rain. Actually, we've been caught in the rain together before, but I don't think I've gotten the chance to tell you about how much I adore it. It's an odd thing to appreciate, sure, but it's something that I think I'll value and love until the day I die. Do you remember the time we got caught in the rain? We were running from where we had eaten dinner to the bus stop, and my hood was up. You didn't have one so your hair was getting soaked and matted to your forehead, which was truly a sight to behold. God I miss you Fictional Brian, why are you gone? Why'd you leave me for her? I'm sitting here listening to a song about wanting to love again, or even see that person again in your dreams, and I feel like I can relate to it way more than I should be able to. I've dreamt about you recently, and I've also seen you, but it doesn't sit right with me. Something's definitely off between us, and I can't tell if it's because of me or you or someone else, but I'm determined to find out who it could be. I want to really see you again. I want to talk to you, and I want you to talk to me. 

Listen to the rain as it hits against the siding of your apartment, the gutter making classic pitter-patter sounds. Think of me for each pattern you hear, and each time you think of thunder. Think of me when you hear an E-Chord played in succession. Think of me while you're up late at night making food or trying to finish work. Think of me always, and chances are I'll be thinking of you. 

Unfortunately Still Yours,  
Jaehyung

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woot woot   
> my parents have decided that insomnia is: fake  
> and have therefore taken away my: phone  
> meaning that I can write at night but I cannot: post  
> I am: sorry  
> much love to everyone and im yelling cause people actually seem to be liking this and I hope everyone likes this new chp. It's kinda slow? Anticlimactic? compared to the last few but there's still some nuggets in there that are important :D


	8. #8: on getting caught in the rain alone

Hi,  
So I got caught in the rain today.  
I suppose that’s what I get for talking about how much I love rain isn’t it? Cause that’s how fate plays with us, manipulating the strings of time and the threads of consequence.  
I actually had the chance to talk to you for once, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. It didn’t feel very different, but somehow like we weren’t as close. I’d ask you about things and you wouldn’t remember, god I wish you’d just fucking remember something for once. I wanted to sit next to you, but you were in an awkward spot so I just went to the middle of the room, sitting on a table that was equidistant from you and the rest of my friends in the room. I had so many questions to ask you, and none of the time that I wanted. I’m still scared to talk to you a little, worried that I’ll say something dumb or whatever and make a fool of myself. Not that I haven’t already of course, but rather that I’d stumble over my words and you’d surely notice.

You know, in the time before the rain came I thought I was on my way to getting over you. We’d talked for a bit over text since both of us were done at school for the day, and conversation wasn’t as easy as it used to be. I’m not sure if it was because I was searching for topics so desperately, or if it was because you weren’t reciprocating. At one point I said sorry, and you took it saying that it was okay. How much do I have to apologize for? I feel like I’ve done so much wrong that a string of sorry’s could stretch around our universe and still the word wouldn’t be sufficient for all that I’ve caused. Talk to me more, tell me what I did wrong Fictional Brian, I’ll accept it and beg for forgiveness.

We actually ended up talking about Nayeon a bit, you ditching me to drive her somewhere and then pick her up. I told you third wheeling was far superior because what’s left to do once you’ve had your heart torn into little pieces by a girl that deserves the world and you don’t? You laughed, and I really hope I didn’t sound salty, it seems to be a problem with me recently. I promise I’m not salty that you’re dating a girl that you’ve been close friends with for several years, and you say she’s a sweetheart so I’ll take it. I’ve got nothing on her, and that’s fine. It just kinda sucks.

It was much colder today, the temperature dropping fast towards sundown. I held my hands in my pockets and pointed my face towards the wind, not wanting hair to get caught in my glasses, or stuck in my eyes. I waited for a bus for thirty minutes, standing outside, my phone dead from the cold and consequently the tune of heavy nothingness pulsing through my headphones. The people talking around me all have their own vernaculars, the judging of which language it could be still holding intact. Three buses passed all of us on the side street, filled to the brim with people that I wouldn’t want to be close to anyway. After the third bus had gone past I decided to walk down a bit, catching the next bus at a stop where only I stood.  
After reaching my previous destination, I found that I had to go to a different part of town, and all I wanted was for my phone to turn on. The long-awaited rain had just started, and I can’t be glad enough that I brought my umbrella. Popping it up, I walked into the street and waited a bit for the bus, which I almost would’ve missed if not for the crosswalk coming on in that instance. I caught the bus and listened to the rain, anticipating my stop and praying my phone would stay alive. It didn’t take long for me to arrive at my bus stop, but the rain was near torrential at that point. On the bus I loved it, but paired with the frozen air outside it wasn’t much pleasing. I jumped outside to open my umbrella and started walking. In all honesty, there’s not much that I minded about the rain. My feet were cold and my pants were wet but I kind of liked the feel of it. I like how my hair looks when it’s soaked by rain, and I love the smell of rain after it stops. Sometimes it’s nice to feel it as the world exists around you, instead of just hiding from it all the time. Sometimes it’s nice to let a raindrop fall down your cheek on the same track that tears normally would, just to remind yourself that tears aren’t the only things that have to fall.

I think I’ve got an affinity for the night sky. When I was in middle school I’d go outside and just lie on the pavement, watching the stars. I called my best friend and we watched the sky together. Maybe it stems from the togetherness and romantic scenes in movies, or maybe from the fact that under the night sky you realize just how small and insignificant you are. My bed is next to the window, and I often end up lying with my head on the windowsill, rather than the mattress. I like to watch the silhouettes of Black and twisting trees, and I like the way everything feels calmer. There are much fewer cars, and you can hear their tracks in the unplowed road, tires packing down the new snow. I get all of my best inspiration from the window too, nature bubbling up inside me and giving me the key to new pictures and universes I wouldn’t think of otherwise.

I once told a close friend about looking up at the night sky. We texted almost every day, but never got the chance to talk at school before he started ignoring me for his new love interest. I told him about the moon and he said he wanted to lie there with me.

Sometimes I think about what it would be like to do that, lie down with someone I love and just stare at the sky. As it would be late at night I feel like the conversation would be naturally interesting, and if we do it during the summer a light rain might pass over and get our hair wet. Our hands would be clasped, fingers interlocked, and my thumb would be running over your knuckles. We’d look at the moon until one of us fell asleep, or lack thereof, staying there until dawn and proceeding to make a cup of coffee. If I had a physical bucket list, it write that down. Start to finish.

It’s a bit short, but my eyes are actually starting to feel heavy for once. So bring me some rain and hold me close,

Jae

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey kids,,,  
> I love hearing all of your thought so much ahhh oh my god thank you so much For all of the comments~  
> It’s cold as fuck where I live so if anyone is near by please stay warm and cuddle with a blanket and a hot beverage <3  
> Stay healthy and happy loves!


	9. # of relapses and movie nights

-insert polite header here-

 

Relapse. It’s a bit of a disgusting word, don’t you think so?

All I used to think of when I heard the word was my father screaming curses into the night as I did homework, my mother sobbing in their shared room; audible to me but not to the rest of the world. It was during those days that I learned no one cared that much about each other. It feels good to be naive, the unattained knowledge practically swirling around our heads, begging to get in. It was nice to think that people cared about one another. It was nice thinking that you had more people on your side than you really do. It was nice. But things are only nice for so long.

 

Sometimes when I’m left with nothing better to do I imagine what it would be like to change the seasons at will. What would it be like if I could let icicles fall from my fingers, and flowers bloom beneath my feet. Sometimes when I hear a sharp melody I think of all the moisture in the air and how it looks when it crystallizes. Yesterday I was waiting for the bus outside of our University again, the temperature far below freezing. I took long breaths and watched as I exhaled, the mini ice crystals taking form in front of my face, vapor rising from my mouth and floating off into the air. I think nearly every child has imagined at least once that they were smoking, and all of the vapor in front of them was smoke. Some stop there, and some continue on to try it all. Try new things, but use your brain. That’s what my Dad used to say, though my Mom doesn’t trust him as much now. She puts his knowledge down, and sometimes I do to; going back home to visit is rough. My new apartment at school is quiet. I can take a shower at 1am if I want, I’m the only one that coughs at random during the night, and I can read or sleep or eat whenever I want. Provided, tons of responsibility comes with that. But I’m mostly glad that I don’t have to come home to a family that does nothing but spike my anxiety levels. It would be nice to come home to someone I love deeply. Someone that I could see and they’d make me smile easily.

 

My kind of relapse is letting myself think back to you. We’re still talking less, and if Nayeon sees me as a threat, I’ll honestly never understand. My kind of relapse is getting so far and thinking for so long that I don’t care about you, but then I walk past you on campus again and my face heats up. I’m trying harder to think about anyone that isn’t you. I still feel that inexplicable need to do things in front of you to get you to notice me. 

 

You know, that’s one thing that I really hate. This unexplained want that I have for attention any time I like someone. Maybe it’s because I want them to notice me or think about me, or maybe it’s because I want them to have some sort of outward reaction that I can read. But the problem is, it’s so difficult to read if someone likes you. Many, many things would be much simpler if we could just _tell_ , but we can’t.

 

During these ‘relapses’ what I usually think about is how good it felt to hold your hand. All I could honestly think of was how natural it seemed, our fingers lacing together with ease, and our palms finding the other like magnets. I think about how you even held my hand off of the ice. I think about the first time you held my hand and how it had stemmed from a joke but left my heart racing. I also wonder what I could’ve done differently. What if I had talked to you in real life sooner? What if I had realized that my face could calm down after a little bit since I hadn’t even liked you when we started talking?

 

I wish I could see you as we did before, even though I’m not sure what changed on your side. I know that every time I see you I’m overwhelmed with guilt. I started noticing how often I talk about you, and how often I think about you even as I pass certain landmarks on the bus.

 

You know, sometimes I see other people on the bus and I can tell that they’re still in that awkward stage where they want to hold hands, but it feels like they’re exposing themselves to the world. I think about what it would be like to do that with you on occasion, to just sit side by side on the bus and wait in anticipation as our fingers inched closer, one of us finally gaining enough courage to lace our fingers. Would it be like when you held my hand as we were walking? Then you had a future reason, but if we were to just sit there, it would mean everything instead of the regular nothing.

 

I watched a movie today, and all I could think of was watching it with you and how that would be so nice. Of course, I have the experience and foundation for my imagination to run wild, emotions swirling around my head and pouring out in unshed tears. I wondered what it would be like to just stay in with you and be curled up on the couch next to each other for the whole day. You’d keep me warm and I’d keep you held tight to me. My head would lie on your shoulder and your cheek against my hair, and maybe if I got lucky you’d turn your head and kiss the top of mine, a potential smile spreading across my face. Maybe we’d hold hands and maybe we’d get lost in each other instead of the events behind the screen. I think about the way you held my hand on your shoulder that time we went to the movies a lot actually. The whole time we were just there as friends but I noticed things as I tend to, and most of them probably meant so little to you. But that’s my specialty you see; blowing things out of proportion. At this point I can’t even remember how long you held my hand in yours for, just that it was long enough for my heart rate to pick up and the blood to pump faster through my veins. You let go just as it evened out, and I still think you were able to feel it. I think you knew my heart rate was racing, and I’m not even sure if yours had too, cause I couldn’t feel it.

 

I was cooking while I was watching the movie though, and though I’ll never truly understand why those images hit me at full force, they did. I’ve never been so thankful to use onions as a catalyst. The white and empty walls of my apartment got to know my tears and my red face like they were normal, and nothing inanimate could’ve judged me. I dropped my knife and fell to my knees against the counter, my arms refusing to hold me up as I broke down. My back kept hitting against the cabinets and making noise as the doors closed, but I couldn’t have cared less as the sobs racked through my body and my hands were useless. I couldn’t draw them into me to hide my face, but they stayed at my side, my lonesome side. In my defense, the onion was strong.

 

I’ll find it in me to justify later but now I feel as though I should apologize for writing about nothing other than the pain and sadness I’m attempting to endure. What I write in these letters is what comes to mind and you’re often the one there, hiding in the shadows. I get inspired to write to you all the time now. I want to tell you more than just my sadness but the constraints of insomnia and the break of dawn limit that. How often do you think of happy things when you’re awake at four am? Perhaps that’s why the night is more dangerous to be out in: you never know who’s hurting and how close they are to their breaking point The dark allows for sneaky getaways and the lack of sun shifts moods and circadian rhythms.

 

Sometimes I wonder why I even wrote a letter to you in the first place, and why I thought that you might even care enough to read it. Honestly I still wonder why my friend kept reading all of the letters I wrote to him. He said they were funny, so maybe he just kept coming back for the humor. But you don’t really get any humor do you, Fictional Brian? All you get is melancholy sadness, despair, agony, nostalgia. It truly is a wonder that I let myself continue to write to you. Perhaps you keep reading because you _do_ find these entertaining. Perhaps you keep reading because you want to see how long it takes before I break entirely, and there’s nothing and no one left to pick up the pieces and help glue them together. That’s the problem, sometimes all someone needs is someone else with a steady hand to pick up their pieces and glue them back together. It’s when people can’t find someone who’s steady enough, or even if they can’t find anyone at all, that the problem truly becomes fatal. A broken plate still has a function and can try to live out it’s purpose, but when you’re newly broken you have to find a way to adapt to your new life. You have to find a way to make compromises. Then you keep making them, and making them, and making them, and making them until there’s nothing left of you to compromise. Maybe that’s what a true death is. When your soul has been broken into so many fractions and is used up, that’s the final resting place. If your soul is still whole you continue, and we can only wait until there’s nothing left to move on.

 

You texted me yesterday, and I responded. You passed me on the stairs and I waved to you, and you waved back. We’ve continued our broken rhythm, and I know what’s missing, but there’s no way to create that fill in the bridge to the chorus of us, and until the a string is repaired, there never will be.

 

You texted me to ask if I wanted to get coffee with you. If I wanted to meet Nayeon. I said yes. I promised I’ll be there.

I’m just not sure how much of ‘me’ will be left.

 

-Jae

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao more emo shit y'all are probably ready to kILL mE  
> (honestly,,, same. I promise there's happiness at some point just..not now)  
> so kiddos for the next three (3) ish weeks I'll have rehearsal for a musical until 10pm and probably won't get home until 11:30. Imma just give a heads up because it means I might be updating less :'(  
> I'll still try my best, because there's a lot that I wanna write and I think i'm finally starting to get over my writers block eY YO   
> I also wanted to say that all of the comments I get legit warm my heart and make my day and I am amAZED at the amount that I get. I am truly blessed and I love ALL OF YOU SO MUCH
> 
> come yell at me or with me on twitter: @junhonkmyhorn  
> stay warm, happy, healthy, safe, and well rested~ much love~


	10. #10: Of coffee and happiness

I suppose the proper greeting at this time would be good morning? Perhaps good dawn? Merry Daybreak? I’m not quite sure, but I’m starting to drop formalities.

Did you know that I have a wall in my room that’s nearly covered in pictures? I’ve got pictures from when I was little, from middle school, from high school, from retreats, mostly anything. In middle school I discovered a way to print photos straight from my phone, and that was something I did pretty often. For awhile I kept the photos in albums, not having enough space on my wall at home. In my dorm I have a small space near a back wall where I could hang my favorites, and even some of the messages from various retreats and clubs that I’ve been a part of.

I love my wall most of the time, and I really like to look at it for memories, but sometimes it feels a bit suffocating. I’m not sure if it’s surprising, but that wall hasn’t been updated in a long time.

Sometimes I can roll into my bed, turn on a sad song and plug my headphones into my ears, and the last thing that I want to do is see the people on that wall. I love them, and I love my friends, and I love my family, but sometimes being alone is what we need.

Over the summer when I first moved here, I found this little restaurant that’s close to crowded streets, but far enough away that not too many people go there. I’d bring my work there, and just order something to eat by myself. I remember one day when it was pouring outside, and I was just inside listening to music, eating my lunch, and finishing up some work for my summer courses. I wasn’t totally alone, the distraction provided by managers, waitresses, and cooks, as well as the music playing through my earbuds. I ordered rice, beef, and curry for lunch that day; even as I look back now I have no regrets. I remember I had to wait for the bus for several minutes under a tiny umbrella, and my shoes had gotten entirely soaked by the end of the day. Though it is different based on where someone is from, I feel like most cultures don’t pride in eating alone, which is sad, honestly. I suppose there are stories about getting stood up at restaurants, and that has taken over society, showing that if you’re alone, it’s because you’re lonely. There are a lot of people that think being alone means you’re lonely, and while I could start spouting fake phrases priding those that like to spend time with themselves, I’d like to say it differently. I know what I like and what I don’t, and while I can annoy myself in my thoughts, if I’ve got a distraction from my mind, I am my best company. Nothing is forced or unnatural, when you’re with yourself but not listening to your brain, it’s kind of funny how things seem to fall into place.

I noticed one thing that doesn’t fall into place. Fictional Brian, your fingers are big and rough, and holding a delicate, small hand, they seem out of place. We walked into the coffee shop together before Nayeon arrived, and sat down, picking a booth of fair proportion. We talked and laughed and joked, the conversation seemingly endless, until we heard the bell above the door chime. You’d been telling me a story, and I’d finally begun to feel a little bit more human, and that bell rung signaling the arrival of another customer. To the workers there she must’ve just seemed like another customer, but to us she was the block between us. You’d gone silent, but not in a good way. Call me biased but you almost seemed to dread her walking over and placing her hand on your shoulder. You almost seemed like her ordering you two coffee and a pastry and then asking to share would be the most repulsive thing in the planet. You almost seemed mad that she was there, but I could’ve confused my emotions with expressions on your face without difficulty.

The best part of holding hands is the fact that it’s so easy. Some do find complications nonetheless, but those complications are often regarded as cute, and don’t have problems with it. They lace their fingers, play with the pads of their finger tips, anything really. This is why I don’t understand why I haven’t ever held another man’s hand besides in dances. When you two did it though, it seemed almost forced. It seemed like you didn't really want her to be touching you, and if she ran her thumb across your knuckles, you seemed like you were being burnt by the action. It made me wonder if you'd still hold mine; if you'd hold mine and not look like you wanted to run away.

We'd all ordered and sat down, and you two were sitting together, me sitting on the other side and looking like nothing more than a third wheel. The coffee shop's walls were practically judging me, and I kept sipping on my sugary latte, the liquid going down my throat in small quantities, as I was taking my time biting the small coffee stirrer. Nayeon looked at me a few times with what I swore was a mix of distaste and displeasure, her eyes avoiding mine as soon as I looked back. She looked like she wanted me gone, but on a deeper level than just from the shop. Am I interfering with your relationship Fictional Brian? I really can't see how I would be, with my incredible insignificance and all. Fictional Brian, is there something I don't know? If there is, or if there's anything I can do, please tell me.

After I found out you were dating her and I told my friends what had happened, they all told me to wait and see if you two would break up, and what would happen then. I hated thinking like that though, because when you. Uh. Really like someone. Well, anyway, when you really like someone and they end up dating someone else, I think it's wrong to wish they would break up with that person. If someone you really like starts to be with someone that isn't you, it's wrong to wish them unwell I think. All I wanted for you was to be happy, and though it kills me that I'm not the person that makes you happy in that way, I want you to be happy with that person. I think as long as you're happy and well I'll be okay. If I end up being the person that makes you happiest in the future, then I'd be glad to be with you; but I understand that not everyone wants the same thing, and I can live with you being happy even if I'm not. Life is full of opposite moments, and though compromise can be nice, it's not always what's healthiest. My friends told me to stop talking to you Fictional Brian, but I can't. I told you I wasn't going to stop being friends with you just because you were dating someone, and I'll hold true to it. I think that, as pathetic as it may seem, being around you makes me the slightest bit happier, so call me a leech, but at this point I'll take what I can get.

Sometimes I think about the concept of a first love. They're mentioned all the time in dramas, and it seems like everyone has one. What is love though? Is it the point where you think you couldn't live without that person? Is it when all of their needs start to come before your own? My parents used to tell me that love was mutual. It's when you start to care for each other and bond emotionally, the push and the pull, the give and the take. If it's unrequited, then it's not that serious. I suppose it's harder to fall out of love with someone than it is if the feeling wasn't mutual. If you go from two people feeling the same way, from caring deeply about each other and being on the same level, to suddenly you're the only one left caring for them, that's a whole nother loss besides just trying to stop liking them. Humans were meant to bond, it's essential to survival.

But why does interaction have to be so difficult? Is every difficult thing in life just to teach us to be better? Sometimes it feels like the pain we go through isn't balanced out enough. It feels like we endure and endure and endure and then just when there's almost nothing of us left, we're brought back up and made whole again. It's like how I said we just keep breaking more and more until we die. We break and break, and then maybe we get glued back together, but each new crack gives us more weak spots and chances to break again. Where is the point that we become so shattered and the glue is the only thing holding us together from being dust on the floor? Do our souls die when the dust can't be fixed and us just swept away? That's like the final death I think. Our bodies can stop functioning before our souls, but if we live on past that, how long is it before we're swept away? How long does that take if someone is too afraid to be broken by others and just keeps breaking themselves? How long is it?

Its not uncommon to hear someone talk about being "swept away" so when does the connotation of the word change from starting anew to leaving all of the old. I suppose no matter how hard we try, we can't ever truly "start anew" while on Earth. There's always going to be something of us left. We start out on a brand new slate because our old slate is broken.

There's a philosophy club at our University, and sometimes I wonder if I should join. I get so deep into my head at night that I don't think many other people would understand. Most of the philosophical questions that I pose are about humans relationships, and I don't think I'd be taken seriously. I could ask someone why it is that there are seven billion people in this world, but we can still fall for someone that we know, and they can fall for us just the same. I could ask what the chances are that two people out of seven billion fall for each other at the exact same time. I could ask if and why people break themselves on purpose, and if that's how someone truly dies. I could ask why it's so easy for people to believe in something that might not exist and not themselves.

I could also ask them why humans put others before themselves even when they know they're going to get hurt. Is this where martyrs are the strongest?

I keep forgetting that it's still winter. Not long ago I could look out of the window and see snow falling from the sky and attaching itself to tree branches, but now I see rain and mud and wet cement. I smell it too, and honestly I'm not against it. The days that are perfect for sweatshirts are my favorite days. They give me more writing inspiration than any other kind of weather, and all I want to do is just walk outside and listen to music. I can listen to minor keys, piano and violin, the musics tendrils twisting around my eardrums and soothing my inner monsters. It's my preference, so I've never understood those that are satisfied by major keys and upbeat songs. The ballads have more power than you think possible, and it's interesting to see the difference in emotions.

I listen to music in weird ways. I suppose it's kind of like the way I observe the world around me as well. I'll pay attention to every layer in the song, and often draw those out. Most people still hear these layers, but don't necessarily pick them out. I can mention the piano hidden in a song and a person might be like "what piano" and then as soon as they hear it, it all makes sense. I kind of do that with how I watch the world around me. I notice little things, and I remember little things. I pay attention to a lot of things that most people don't, though that can leave me lacking the sense that others find naturally. It can be frustrating, because I have to explain myself more often than not, but it feels kind of nice to know that I can hold a conversation and talk about things that others might not have noticed. We could talk about the weather, and while one person might remark on the lack of sun, I'd mention how fast the clouds were moving.

The other night the sky was so clear Fictional Brian. I could look up and pick the stars out one by one. I never got to ask you if you enjoy looking at the stars. Maybe, just maybe, if sometime in the future I am the one that makes you happiest, we could walk outside hand in hand and watch the stars. Or maybe that won't happen and we won't be together like that. Then maybe instead we will both look at the stars, but be far apart and still see the same sky. Or maybe you'll be inside holding Nayeon and singing her to sleep while I hug my need to my chest and try to conserve my warmth.

Like I said before, as long as you're happy, I'll be alright. As long as you're happy, I'll be alright.   
Goodnight Fictional Brian,  
Jaehyung

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooooo  
> I'm sorry this is took a bit longer guys, I kept falling asleep in the middle of writing hhhhh   
> Anyway,,, so the plot continues. Are Brian and Nayeon actually as happy as they seem, or is Jae becoming delusional? Stay tuned for more ;)   
> (Also oh my gosh guys the response I'm getting from this is truly amazing, and I absolutely adore answering all of your comments. Thank you all so much for reading and I love you! )


	11. #11: of crowds and bars

Hey again,   
The moon has been shining bright and leaking it's silvery light into the black sky around it. The stars nearby are competing to be noticed and Orion stands continuously in the sky, his hips keeping his belt in the same place as always, and his arms not yet frowning sore from holding his arrow. If I exhale, vapor comes spiraling out into the freezing atmosphere. When I was little I used to eat pretzel rods outside when it was cold, and pretend to smoke, my breath crystalizing and feeding my imagination. Then one of my uncle's died from smoking, lung cancer, and I decided that I'd never do more than pretend.

I never go to parties Fictional Brian.   
Though I'm always up at night and it's easy to hear the noises from those outside, I'd rather stay in and safe. There was one time when I had to pick up Wonpil when he's gotten drunk. It was around 2 and so many uni students were out, drinking and smoking their lives away. Mind you, I know that drinking and smoking are cool so people will try to justify them, but I clearly don't care about being cool. I sit here night after night writing letters to someone that won't read them.   
Either way, even walking past the bar freaked me out as I wondered if anyone was going to get hurt, sick, or regret what they did in the morning. I walked briskly to the party Wonpil was at and practically carried him back to his dorm which luckily wasn't very far away.

I think aside from being incredibly antisocial with those I don't know, parties make me very uncomfortable. I don't like not knowing things about who I am with. I don't like big crowds. I don't like fake socializing. The problem is that u worry about everyone, and if everyone is getting drunk, I have the urge to take care of all of them. I remember I was at a market over the summer and the street was incredibly crowded. That was a night where I'd felt more stressed than I had in a long time. Anyone could come up to me and steal from me, hurt my friends, or anything like that. I was hyperaware of my surroundings and my energy was draining fast. Thousands of glances were thrown over my shoulder, and I continuously scanned the crowd around us for suspicious body language and figures. I saw you there actually, but you never noticed me.

The market itself wasn't even that exciting, and my friends and I spent our dinner eating on the side street. I was incredibly greatfull that nothing had happened to us, and that we could eat in slightly more peace than on the street. After the market we went to their house and sat on the porch talking, which was much more my speed.

My point with hating parties is that yesterday I had to pick Wonpil up from a bar. After getting in and being jostled by countless bodies around me, I looked for any sign of him drinking at the bar. Through text I'd told him to drink water and eat food slowly, and he sent me a blurry picture of where he was, a sign in the back reading that the kitchen closed at 11.

You know, I really hate that kitchens close earlier than the bars do Fictional Brian. Trust me, I understand the need to close earlier, but it's cutting drunk people off from trying to sober up. Sure, they can still have water, but it's often not nearly as satisfying.   
  
What I was surprised to see though, was you and Nayeon at the bar. You were sitting next to each other and about 4 seats away from Wonpil's shrouded figure (which I had found after searching for 15 minutez).) You two were next to each other and her hand was hitting your shoulder as she laughed at something you had said. Her delicate, feminine hands were grabbing your broad, masculine shoulders. I watched as my own hands and around Wonpil's body, and I thought about what it would be like for me to be holding you instead. I suppose I can leave that to Nayeon though, so I don't have to worry about picking you up when you're drunk. She'll be there for you.

I think my insomnia might be getting worse, especially with all of the assignments that have piled up recently. I work all day and then I find myself hand-writing letters to no one at the break of dawn. When I squint it hurts, and the circles around my eyes are a dark purple, blood vessels be damned amirite?

Remember the time that we were talking about how I haven't dated, and you said that maybe no one likes me because they all have bad eyes? I still think about that. You need contacts, did you take that into consideration?   
See this is my problem, I can't just take a fucking compliment.

So, I'm doing well. I'm still writing these because I'm still not over you, and I don't think I will be for a long time. Maybe there are more outside things happening rather than you genuinely wanting to date her. Maybe I need to stop speculating and just accept that you're spoken for and because of that don't speak to me. I asked you if you wanted to see a movie with me like we used to and you left me on read. I asked you if you wanted to go ice skating again with me, and you left me on read. I can accept a no, and I'm not going to think it's a date. I'm not going to force myself on you, and I'll even take the bus home. I just. I want to be like Nayeon. I want to have fun with you and laugh and enjoy my nights like I could before. I want to make more inside jokes and just talk for hours. I can live with not being romantically attached to you, but that's only if you let me back in.

You comment on almost all of my photos on instagram, but when i start a conversation on Snapchat you never respond.

Anyway.  
After I managed to get Wonpil out of his chair and over my back, paid his tab, and begun to walk away from his spot, he tapped my shoulder and then pointed at you and Nayeon. He turned his head and whispered into my ear with his classic broken English which had been worsened by a few doses of soju.

"No love"

My eyes widened, but I knew I had to get out of there fast before I saw you two continue and before I could feel even worse. I wasn't sure if Wonpil was saying that you two weren't in love, or if he was taking a knife to my wound and mentioning that we aren't dating, but you and Nayeon are. That injury is very much open, and has practically become a deposit from all of the salt that's been added to the wound. Give me alcohol, give me propane, give me anything to get it out.

It's a bit short, but I've got more to say tomorrow. I think I'm starting to hear things, and I'm supposed to get up in an hour. I'll try to sleep so I can forget about the face you made when you saw me at the bar. Maybe I should just sleep for forever, and then I can forget you.

Goodnight; I know you won't, but please call me to make you some hangover soup.

-Jae

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woop Woop another (short) chapter because I wanted to get something up just incase the next two weeks become too much and I'm not able to update. I'll try to continue! 
> 
> I hope you guys are picking up the little bits of plot, and from the (lovely, perfect, wonderful, distinguished) comments, I think you are. 
> 
> Love to all and I hope you're doing well~


	12. #12: of dreams and apologies

Good morning old friend,   
I slept last night. I know it may seem hard to believe, but sometimes there are nights when I go to bed at reasonable hours, and this just so happened to be one of them. I hadn’t eaten all day, thrown a shot of a sweet liquor down my throat to kill the hunger and warm my stomach, felt a bit dizzy from exhaustion, and I ended up asleep. Maybe I should exhaust myself more often. I can pile on more emotional stress and then start working out, so it will make me fall asleep, or maybe even pass out. Is it a bad sign that I am so ready to torture myself like this?

Maybe I’m fine with it because sitting up every night like this is torture just the same. I’m left with no one but myself for hours, even if my friends are all asleep around me. I can hear their breathing just as I had heard yours, and the wind pokes its noisy head in through the window to join the crowd.

I think a lot of nights I am able to tell whether or not I’ll dream. Sometimes I don’t want to be right though, because my thoughts during the day weren’t centered around something I wanted to revisit. Can you guess where this is going? Yes. I had a dream about you, twice.

In the first dream you were nothing but a friend nearby. I was handling a crisis, and I think you were just in the background, though I cannot be totally sure.  
However the second dream was much more memorable.

I must’ve been half awake, as I sat in the same position I had been sleeping in and didn’t move, Andy room was entirely dark save for an imaginary movie running on my desktop screen. You were there, on the right side of my bed where it had been pressed against the wall, and I was wondering why you even bothered to be around me. Something felt different in the dream though, almost immediately I sensed that the feeling of ya in that world was different. I was wearing my pijamas? I think the whole movie was for a class and that’s why we were both there, but there was a bed? Dreams are strange, what can I say.   
Anyway we were watching the movie together and I feel an arm snake around me and you pulled me closer to you, your thumb brushing my waist where you held me. I had been a bit cold because of the shorts I wore to bed, but you held me there in my bigass t-shirt and I felt so warm. I remember relinquishing and leaning my head on your shoulder and you rested your head back on mine. I could see everything, smell everything, touch everything, gOD it was terrible. I loved it so much. I remember you just held me and kept me close, and then when I turned in towards you and wrapped my arms around you, you kissed me on the crown of my head and I wanted to melt. It was so hard to wake up, all I wanted was for that to continue. But alas, only the good things stop.

I really. God. I really wanted these letters to start improving. I wanted to seem happier to you, to seem more carefree and just be able to ignore you. My friends asked me if I just really want a boyfriend and that’s why I live like this, and my mom always tells me about how happy she is that I’m not boy crazy. And I’m not, I’m not, I can’t be, I don’t want to be. I tell myself no, no, no, no it’s nothing but bad for you. I want to be held and appreciated and loved, not sexed up or just have the excitement of getting a man. Basically I just want to be in a good relationship where both of us cares and takes care, and I’d settle for nothing less. Is that still boy crazy? Perhaps. I let myself think it’s alright to still be hung up on you because of how close we were, how far you pulled me in, and then how suddenly I was left to fall, even when my friends knew that I would and they didn’t tell me. I stopped cold turkey on a drug and I’m still feeling the effects of it.

Now I’m here, in bed, stuck being sad and crying into ink yet again as you’re flourishing. At least, I hope you’re flourishing. I really sincerely just want the best for you, and even though we hardly talk anymore I hope you know that.   
It really does suck that we don’t talk as much. I’m kinda left wondering if it was something I did. I mean, I’m sure you found out that I liked you because I didn’t really keep it quiet. Damn, maybe if I would’ve kept it to myself something could’ve happened. Maybe, maybe I wouldn’t be left here on my own listening to sad songs and feeling it as my throat shrunk with the pressure of my emotions. They all close in on me, you know? They come closer and closer but I will them away. The thing about insomnia though, is that a lot of the willpower I possess during waking hours fades away. The will to stop thinking about you is suddenly gone, and all of my emotions just come and hit me square in the face. My eyes start to sting and my throat closes up, my head hurts too, so badly.

I heard earlier today that it takes around six months to get over someone. It’s been half that time, and I suppose I’m getting somewhere. I still see you with Nayeon and I still feel a bit sick, or like I’d rather run away, but I guess I’m getting better. I still seem to be having delusions of grandeur though, because every now and then when I’m actually around you I can feel your gaze on me. Maybe it’s one of those gazes from you that I crave so badly, and that’s why I’m imagining it. You have no reason to be looking at me really, and you can’t scold me for bringing up my confidence this time. Listen to me, you don’t just tell someone that you don’t know why no one has dated me, and that you think everyone else must not have eyes. You can’t just tell me that and then...

I’ve realized a lot of these are just repeating the same thing. I’m sure you’d be bored by now Fictional Brian, but maybe you like playing around trying to guess what words are actually on the page when tear marks blur my thoughts. Though I rarely cry when I write these, by now I’ve just become numb. It’s like when you’ve been cold for so long that your extremities just feel like blocks of nothing keeping you from falling over. It’s like when you’ve burnt yourself on the oven and then put on cream to ease your pain, but all the cream does is give you mild relief for a few hours. Oh, how I wish I could find temporary relief. Then maybe I’d be able to stop writing to you. Maybe you wouldn’t have to read all of this sappy shit that I read the next day and want to rip up.

Just stop Jae. You’re really... you’re really pulling out all of your dramatic emotions that have no place here. They have no place here or in this world because how do you even feel entitled enough to be mad at someone else for seeming like they’re interested in you? This is all your fault for falling anyway. It’s your fault for being who you are and messing up talking with him. Why couldn’t you just go up to him in real life like a normal person? Why did you keep asking to hang out when it seemed like he didn’t want to? Why did you think for even a second that the fact that you wanted so badly for this to work and to continue being friends with him cane before the fact that you clearly weren’t wanted. You weren’t wanted, you weren’t appreciated, and you fucking hate yourself, who would want to date that? No one. You can’t just waltz into some situation and go on thinking that you’re the same as everyone else, no, you’re always second best and that’s the reason why. You’ll never be liked, you’ll never be the most important, you’ll never be cared about, nothing. You’re pathetic and you know it so why do you still try? Hm? Come back when you’ve got a better reason why don’t you.

Sorry for the brief interlude Fictional Brian, I, uh, don’t know what came over me just then. Haha, you don’t have to read it. I guess I’ll talk about something that happened today to lighten the mood a bit.

No. There’s nothing. Every new interaction with people makes me nervous now, and there’s always a low after the high. I’ve been waiting for it all weekend, and here it is. I actually enjoyed life for a bit there, and I knew this would happen where I’m right back to where I started I

I’m gonna go I think. This letter isn’t really getting anywhere and I know you don’t want to read it anymore. I know you don’t want the sadness anymore, and I’m sorry that I showed you how I really feel because it seems to scare everyone away. Maybe that’s one more thing that’s my fault. I’m sorry I scared you away Fictional Brian. You don’t have to pretend to read my letters anymore. I’ll just, maybe I’ll write them to myself instead.   
So I don’t seem like I’m forcing you to read things about me.   
I’m sorry.

-jaehyung

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you all probably want to kill me because there’s so little plot in this but please forgive me, it’ll get somewhere soon and you’ll see that all of this actually is plot in a way you don’t know yet.   
> Also! All of my shows are over so your girl is sitting, broken, at home and trying to catch up on some rest (hahahah good joke right)   
> Thank you all for reading~ love you!


	13. #13: Of bowling shoes and phone calls

Ey-Yo,

 

You know I really never noticed the difference between making physical contact with someone, and actually leaning into that contact. 

 

If you read lame romantic stories like I do, it’s mentioned all the time, “he leaned into the touch” “he leaned into the kiss” etc. But I never truly thought about how the two compared. 

Sitting next to someone, especially in tight spaces, can leave your side pressed up against theirs, but you’re not really trying to touch them. The difference with leaning into someone is that there’s a pressure behind the movement. Like potential energy being stored. The pair are leaning against each other with their arms touching, sure, but if they’re actually pressing against each other, that gives it all more of a warmth. If you’re both pressing against one another, you know that you both want to be there, whereas when one one person might push the other can just move away if it’s unwanted. I feel like this is a scientific breakthrough, yet you’ve probably realized this for awhile. But today I experienced both, so I could compare and contrast more immediately. It's weird to talk about actually, and reading what I wrote I don't make much sense. It's all about sentiment I suppose, and how things happen in the moment. A sequence of events. It feels good, you know, it feels good to lean into someone. 

 

You called me actually. It was kind of early in the morning on a Saturday afternoon, and I was doing homework while sitting underneath my window. 

 

(A side note: I’m so excited for the warm weather to start because then I can sit near my window and actually open it more often!!!) 

 

I picked up my phone from across the room as It was yelling my ringtone into the previously almost-silent room, soft tones of a piano being the only thing to fill the silence previously. I nearly dropped my phone when I realized that it was you calling me, and I swear to god I wanted to slap myself for the tight pressure on my chest being released and then replaced with a fluttering anxiety. You know the kind that sticks in your chest and your stomach when something you’re really looking forward to is going to happen? That feeling. 

 

Actually speaking of that feeling, I’ve noticed I’ve been getting it more often, which means I’m becoming more anxious? I don’t really understand why but I think I’m able to calm myself down so for now I don’t think that’ll be a problem. 

 

Anyway when I swiped my screen to take your call with admittedly shaking fingers, I lifted the phone to my ear and wanted to cry. Deadass wanted to cry. It’d been so long since I’ve heard from you, and the whole moment was far too sentimental. You told me that you wanted to go bowling today, and because I wasn’t sure I believed you wanted to go with me, I told you to ask your girlfriend. You stuttered, but then eventually told me with an unsure tone that she didn’t like bowling. Letting it go, for once in my life, I told you that I would love to go bowling with you.

I want to say that I was able to hear the smile in your voice as we said our goodbyes, but perhaps that had been left to my imagination. I pulled my phone from my ear and watched as the red 'end' button turned grey; and if a smile found it's way onto my face that's for me to know and you to ponder Fictional Brian. 

 

We had planned to meet in less than an hour, and I knew the bus would take about thirty minutes so I immediately went to pack my wallet and change out of my lazy day outfit into something that was admittedly much better. Yes I hate myself for it, but I still want to look good when I'm around you. That much hasn't changed. 

 

You know it's kind of funny. When I like someone there are little changes that happen to me that I've noticed. For one, my skincare routine amps up a bit. Basically, my hygiene becomes superior, and it makes me sad that I don't feel the motivation to do the same otherwise. I suppose I was just meant to be an American housewife in the 50s. My point is, before there's someone that I've got my eye on, I don't care as much about how I look. I kind of just, let people think what they might of me, but when I like someone I want them to see the best me. Pathetic right? I start putting on lip balm and moisturizing my hands just in case you would touch my hand if even by accident. 

 

Actually, that makes me think about this one time in middle school. I was at a party for the guy that I liked at the time, and finally I had managed to get some time away with him. There was a wooden fence around his property and we sat next to each other, I was talking and listening to him as he poured himself out to me in a teenage stupor. I kept looking at the space between us and all I could honestly think of was how much I wanted to hold him, how much I just wanted to hold his hand. I was so smitten it's a bit gross, but in the night air and that damn fence, it's all I could think of. We did end up dating later and I told him about it, he grasped my hand and led me outside to the fence and sat next to me on it, our fingers entwined. It was light out, and the conversation wasn't very deep. I think that's the first time I learned that no matter what you think, nothing can really truly be created again. No ambiance or moment or memory. Each happens in it's own chronological position, with two people thinking in their own way. It's possible to try to re-create what had happened, but it's not as honest. Sometimes honesty and the rawness of a moment is what makes it so special. 

 

Anyway, apart from my rant because it's 3am and I haven't slept well in a week. I somehow managed to make it out of the house fully intact and the bus ride didn't feel nearly as long as I had wanted it to be. The bus stop was only a parking lot or two away from the bowling alley, and the rest of the street was littered with hipster coffee shops, suddenly making me feel relieved that I had actually put some thought into my clothing choices. 

 

I walked off of the bus and began walking from one parking lot to that of the alley, crossing over and going inside. Despite it being early spring, the wind chill was still a bit cold, forcing me to keep my jacket wrapped around myself, my hands shoved into my pockets. I found the entrance of the bowling alley and tow automatic doors opened, leading me inside and into the warm air. I've always had mixed feelings about the doorways that blow hot air on you as soon as you walk in. It's nice when you're freezing, but then after it's kind of like false advertising once you go back to being cold inside of the actual establishment. I digress. 

 

I was but two steps inside the place before I spotted you leaning against one of the bowling racks-turned-countertops. You looked the same as always, dressed up like you didn't put much effort into it but you were still somehow dazzling. Glowing, I think could be the appropriate word to use. You saw me and smiled as you waved me over and you were positively glowing. Admittedly I wondered in the back of my mind if you smiled like this at Nayeon, or if she was consistently met with even more sunshine. 

 

I walked over to you, and you stood up from where you'd been leaning previously. You're still shorter than me, and though I know it's unrealistic to expect something different at our age, your presence just seemed so big to me. Your smile was big, your eyes, your soul, your personality. 

 

All of it, it really fits you. 

 

"Hey, I guess you found this place alright?" you asked me. I had nothing in me to fuel something other than a nod. 

 

The idea of being truly breathless has always puzzled me, to be honest. I remember getting breathless from anger, and I know how it feels to forget how it feels to breathe when you're sad and devastation is all that takes over your chest. I know people say it happens when you kiss someone you love, and I've also heard that it happens when you look at someone. 

 

I looked at you, and my chest became so full of so many different emotions. I felt the pain of the last few moths all over again, the happiness of just being next to you, and every emotion in between, even as you simply walked ahead of me, going to get us both bowling shoes. 

You asked for my size and soon after gave me a pair of shoes that I swear to God looked like clown shoes. I mentioned this, and you laughed. Your laugh is really special, did you know that? I can hear it in my dreams sometimes, the way it sounds and the breathing patterns that often accompany it. I changed my shoes and sat down at one of the alleys that was open, I watched as you slipped your shoes on quickly and began inputting the information for our game. I've always been slow when it comes to tying my shoes. 

 

The thing with agreeing to go bowling, was that you don't know how to bowl. And I knew this. My grandmother was actually a professional bowler and she used to take me and my sister bowling all the time over the summer, so I had a few tricks up my sleeve, but in all honesty I wasn't that good. You started the game and turned off the bumpers; it was your turn first. You chose a random ball from behind us, ignoring the fact that some of them were heavier than the others. You picked up a 20lb and I almost laughed out loud. I watched as you struggled a bit with it was you waddled up to the lane. Swinging back slightly, you let go too early, and your ball didn't even make it down the track, coming to a full stop off to the side. I chose a 15lb ball and walked up next to you as you stared at your own ball in disbelief. You said something like "how could the ball possibly just stop there, isn't it supposed to be easy?" and I shook my head telling you that nothing about bowling is easy. You pouted god damnit, I felt like I had to do something. 

 

When I released my ball I caused it to hit yours and they both traveled down the lane, somehow leaving three pins up in the center. You had the audacity to laugh at my misfortune. I had one more turn, and I knocked the three down, excited that I hadn't entirely failed in front of you. 

Your next turn, you did the same thing, for both of of your turns. You managed to get both of your (now 15lb hah) bowling balls down the full expanse of the alley, but only via the gutter. I went quickly and ended up with two pins left standing. 

 

Before your next turn something had snapped inside of me after seeing your previous skills, and I walked up to you before you could even coil your arm. I tapped you on the shoulder and asked you if I could help a bit. You nodded so I put my hands on your arm and guided it into the proper movements, following your every action with mine, guiding you. I honestly don't think I've ever had to try so hard to pretend that you weren't you than I did in that moment. As soon as the ball had left your fingers I left your side and we both watched as it headed straight for the center. A strike. Now, do you think that if I wanted that to have happened it would? No, because I knew that you were going to ask me again, and never had I felt so much stress in my life. (That's a wholeass lie but e _ mphasis _ )

 

We'd gotten through about half the game before we heard shouts from behind us of your friends Mark and Youngjae. Walking up next to you, I went ahead and took both of my turns, anxiety bubbling up in my stomach after it had just barely begun to calm down. As I began walking back I heard them ask if they could join our game, which, fine, okay sure whatever they can join. Although I have to admit I was far saltier when they had actually joined than I am now because I hadn't realized what was going to happen because of them. Mind you, the discovery I made and mentioned earlier may not seem huge to the average joe, Fictional Brian, but to me it was monumental, and honestly life-changing. 

 

You added the pair to our bracket, despite us being halfway through our game. This meant that they had to take all of their turns in a row to catch up to us, and while waiting for youngjae to finish, you sat across the table, and I sat next to Mark. I didn't know him very well to be perfectly honest, but I'd talked to him a few times and we had each other on snapchat. Despite the entirety of the seat being next to him, Mark seemed so entirely enveloped by what Youngjae was doing that he sat right next to me, practically pressed up fully against me as well. Aside from the initial awkwardness it wasn't that bad, he was just kind of there and just happened to be touching me, there was nothing more and nothing less. 

 

I didn't fully realize this until Youngjae had finished with all of his turns and stayed up by the lane to cheer Mark on, who apparently had also never bowled before. 

 

You walked over from your seat across the table and sat right next to me, our thighs touching and our shoulders as well. You had both of your hands behind your back supporting your sitting position, so if you leaned even slightly towards me your shoulder pressed into me, yes. However, when you started talking to me you actually pressed your thigh against mine, putting pressure into the gesture. Subconsciously I reciprocated by pressing against your thigh with mine just the same. The whole ordeal was very mundane, until we had been sitting in the coffee shop later and you did the same thing again, making me realize that there was something entirely different to how you were sitting with me versus the way Mark had. 

 

I noticed a pattern of this actually. The first time we went to see a movie together our shoulders were pressed together for almost the entire duration of it, occasionally you would press into me more and I'd take notice, and sometimes it felt as if you were going to lean away but you never did. You just lightened the pressure against my arm. 

 

I know, I know, it probably all means nothing to everyone else in the world but even thinking about the fact that this is so subconscious, and yet shows at least some indication of interest, fascinates me. It kind helps me take a step back and realize just how much truly goes into relationships. We made jokes, you laughed, you held my hand, I smiled, we walked close together, we skated, we, we did so little together and I feel like we should've gotten the chance to do so much more. Maybe we will get that chance. I think it all depends on you. 

 

There were actually only two rounds of bowling left when your friends had gotten there, so we decided to leave and go to eat while they started a new game in the lane we had left behind. We walked out of the establishment, our street shoes back on our feet (goD imagine if one of us forgot to put our normal shoes on.. that definitely sounds like something that I would do...) 

 

I wasn't quite ready to leave you yet, and it seemed like maybe you felt the same way when you asked if I was hungry. I nodded and said "when am I not?" You laughed your beautiful laugh and I started talking about a ramen shop that I'd heard about in this area. Agreeing to try the ramen place, we headed a few buildings down and found the door to the restaurant on the side of the triangle shaped building. We walked in and it was truly a simple set up, their wooden tables with electric stoves in the center. The waitress asked us to seat ourselves and you chose a table furthest in the back corner and yet somehow still by a window. 

 

I called the booth side of the table and you reluctantly sat in a chair across from me, playfully kicking my ankle. I opened one of the four menus pre-set on the table and tried to decide which type of broth and noodles I wanted. It was not until I had chosen all of the components to my soup that I noticed your foot was still touching my ankle. I felt myself smile, but I honestly don't even know if you meant it in that way, and I don't know why that's how I took it originally. Plenty of my friends have let their feet stretch out underneath the table, and I'm not sure what made you so different. Perhaps it was the fact that I've only been out to eat with you a few times so I wasn't quite accustomed to you yet. Maybe it's because that's what I wanted it to mean. There were a few times in classes with rectangle tables that I have kicked someone on accident, only to have them smile back at me or look at me in utter disgust. I just wanted you to be different, I think. 

 

When the waitress came over to us and finally took our order, things had set in place. There's always this weird kind of rhythm I find myself following whenever I'm with you. The pre-game is filled with anxiety and anticipation, and then when I see you about a quarter of the nerves diminish (this is usually the stage in which my face turns red) and then as the time goes on I get more and more comfortable until by the end we are just teasing each other constantly and filling the gaps with good conversation. 

 

Sometimes people ask me what I talk to you about, and honestly I couldn't tell them even if I wanted to, because there's always so much that goes on. 

 

I did notice one thing while we were together though, and that was that towards the beginning you were constantly checking your phone, and as our waiting time continued the checking thinned out until you had only checked your phone once simply because I was too lazy to check mine for the time. I noticed that every time you checked it you'd be looking more nervous or on-edge, but then after opening a notification (what appeared to be DMs on instagram) you seemed calmer, and you always looked straight at me right after. Straight in my eyes with your lovely eyes. How do you expect me to continue living, exactly? 

 

You had just looked back up at me after checking the time and were about to say something when the approaching footsteps of our waitress called your attention and my own to the steaming hot bowls of noodles being set down on the table. I watched as a small smile spread across your face and your eyes followed the soup as it was set down, and this was truly one of the purest things I had seen in awhile. We ate in near silence as you seemed so concentrated on every bite that I somehow couldn't bare to disturb you. 

 

After we ate and paid, you started talking about a rolled ice cream shop that was close down the street, and as lovely as that sounded I knew that I had to get home. Slowly, I had been scheming in my head a way to figure out if I could put off my work for another hour or two, bumping my procrastination skills up to a new level. We had been standing on the corner of the street for a little bit, both of us looking at each other and then looking away, the cycle repeating itself a few times before you got a call. 

 

Call me nosy as I tried to listen in, but the effort was in vain as I could barely hear the voice on the other line. All I saw was alarm flash across your face, and then all I could do was watch as you hung up, said goodbye to me, and half heartedly offered me a ride to the subway. Seeing you all wild-eyed made me want to help you calm down, but I also knew that keeping a restraint on you would only add to your stress so I declined, with a promise to text you when I leave and get home.  I watched as you ran to your car and -luckily- took a few deep breaths before starting the vehicle and driving away. 

 

At this point I was more concerned than anything, and I still haven't gotten the chance to ask about what happened since you never responded to my texts when I had arrived at my apartment. I remember I had almost 35 minutes until the next bus that could take me home arrived, so I went against my better judgement and walked into one of the pretty coffee shops. The barstools were wicker and the seats everywhere else were either tin stools or happened to be backed as well. The shop had a black and white theme, my white-chocolate mocha fitting right in with the metaphorical aesthetic of the place that used black acrylic paint like I do graphite writing these letters to you. 

 

It was in this very same coffee shop that my mind began to race, and honestly it hasn't stopped. I think one thing that has always intrigued me about you is how many questions you leave me with. I asked you to describe your first impression of me and you said I was chatty and curious. See, this is true but it is only that way with certain people. You, Fictional Brian, are someone that I am always eager to learn more about because you don't make sense to me yet. Nothing about you is easily computed by my brain because the things you do and say are all so contradictory, but not in a bad way. No, not in a bad way at all. You're difficult to read and difficult to predict and that bothers me a bit, so I end up thinking about you. Now, if you find yourself thinking about the same person day-in and day-out, don't you see how easy it is to fall for them? AND IT SUCKS! BECAUSE THEY DON'T MAKE SENSE!

 

Fictional Brian I write about you and to you every day because you continue to leave me guessing. You give me so many emotions that are almost too many to deal with at the same time, and I want to know how that's possible. How do you cast your spell over me like it's nothing? How does Nayeon feel about it? Does she fully understand you? If she does, then I suppose I've even lost my sliver of a right to competition. 

 

See you later, and I hope you respond to me soon so I can figure out why the hell you left so fast. 

  * Jae



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's not ??? Hyper depressing ??? Is this ??? Written by the same author ???  
> (you guyyyyys i'm so excited to get to the good stuff also fun fact i posted a picture of working on this and the person it's inspired by just liked it lmaO RIP ME)   
> (i love you guys im sorry it's been so long the chapter actually has plot does that make up for i t ?)


	14. #14: of stars and smiling

Hey Fictional Brian,  
I know it’s been quite some time since I last sat down and wrote to you. If I said that I ran out of stationary, would you believe me? I don’t think you would, so let me tell you a little bit more, and then I promise you’ll figure out why I’ve been gone so long. 

How often do you watch romance movies? I know they’re kind of lame, and gross, and tacky… But call me out, I love watching them. Sure, the ones I watch all make me cringe and say “yikes” at varying volumes,but I swear there’s something special about them. 

I feel like there’s always that one character that does something so incredibly stupid, and continues the action, or just becomes more awkward. I’ve been thinking a lot about this character type (and why those people always make me want to tear my head off) And I know what drives me insane is the lack of logic, but I think that stems from something very realistic. Logic has no proper place while one loves. 

Hear me out on this alright, I know it’s stupid. But if you really think about it; why do people get into such unhealthy relationships so willingly? Why are people always so foolish and can’t think straight around the person they like? It’s one big high from a drug you aren’t able to administer. The characters in movies that make so many of us cringe and throw popcorn at the TV are the very same characters that represent us in full. They’re exaggerated, they’re cute, they’re crazy, they’re blushing. They might ask if it’s hot in here when they notice you staring, but on the inside they’re wondering if you’re staring at the pimple on their chin in disgust, or if you’re staring at their lips. 

I think what’s nice about romance movies is that both parties are often equally as cringey, and though the likelyhood of any of the depicted events happening are very slim, it’s refreshing. Both of the dorks get their romantic kiss in a secluded garden, and suddenly they’re in love despite only knowing each other for two weeks. The audience bears witness to the people being endearing, and somehow the characters finding each other endearing, even through their crazy actions. I think I also like watching them because I’m waiting for the day that I like them, and somehow still seem endearing through all of my layers of oxytocin. 

Admittedly, it sucks more when the person you like is very visibly in that phase, but it’s not directed towards you, so all you can do is sit back and watch them be foolish (cause God knows you can’t take your eyes off of them.) 

But there’s also a feeling of euphoria after watching the movie that leaves you in a stupor sometimes. You keep looking back on the movie and thinking about all of their moments, aligned so precisely that everything somehow works. There’s no “finals week right when we’re about to start dating”, no “I think I need to work on myself before I’m ready to love someone else”, no “I need to find myself”, no “I have issues with communication”, no nothing. Unless it all works towards them, there isn’t an event that would steer them down the correct path, and while it’s a poor representation of what happens more often than not, it’s true for real couples. Under the right light and the right conditions with the right hair cut, humans in love can do anything. 

All it takes are the right lights and the right conditions.  
And we went for a walk, under the lights.

To picture the difference between the feeling of finishing a romance movie and being in the moment, breathing your own storyline, is to paint a frog, and genetically engineer one. There’s always going to be the feeling of elation once the couple that you like has finally gotten together, and once they have their special kissing scene that you feel like you’re intruding on, but can’t quite take your eyes off of. But the feeling is only slight compared to what happens when it comes to yourself. 

I remember when I first met you, I’d see you almost every day and just kind of shrug it off, but as time passed I’d start noticing all of the little things. Another big this is that I’d start to blush every time you came close to me. I’d revel in your smiles, and laugh along when you did. It’s almost scary how quickly a human can turn into an idol when feelings are involved. People become obsessed, but somehow justified. Love makes you do stupid things. But then, sometimes you can be so elated and feel so good when a reality check comes that you’re not ready for. It’s finding out that someone else has eyes for you, and wondering if they influenced you to change your attitude towards someone else. It could also be seeing a group project go under, purely because you weren’t there to supervise it (which is what I had to leave for the time we went bowling, I’m still sorry about that.) Or maybe it’s the thoughts that creep into your head as you’re driving home from being together. 

For me, my reality check came when we’d gone out together for the fourth time that week, and we were watching the stars, sitting all the way in the back of a movie showing in the park, more so in the forest than in the clearing. Lying down on our blanket, you pulled my hand from my side into yours, holding on to me like you wanted to, like you needed to. We laid there and you told me about liking the shadows of the trees as they climbed up to the sky above you. You told me about the moon and what it showed you when you missed the bus that one time and had to walk home. You told me about looking out your window at the sky and logging the colors in your brain, wondering if they’d ever appear in the same way again. I just laid next to you and held your hand, our fingers laced, you holding on tight as you explained your inner thoughts. I thought about all of these letters which I’ve yet to show anyone, and how similar your stories are to my own, as if you’d read them and knew exactly how to respond. My fascination with your stories lead me to nearly forgetting Nayeon, which is a story within itself. 

Fictional Brian, you told me about your favorite constellation and now I’ve got something to look for as I stare into space, trying to formulate my emotions with words. It’s kind of funny, now when it’s cloudy, I’m sad because I can’t find you, but I smile and think of you enjoying all of the refracted colors. But when the sky is clear I smile just the same, because I’ve found you. What’s funny is that you’ve taken something I never knew exactly how to feel about, and given me a reason to smile no matter what. 

You, you are my reason to smile no matter what; and this time, I think it overpowers my sadness. 

And that’s kind of scary.

-Jae

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo.. fluff?  
> I know wow tricia u suck u haven't written in ages and you come back with a filler chapter  
> IM SO SORRY YOU GUYS IDK WHAT HAPPENED  
> other than a lot happening actualy hahahaha oof  
> but this is hoepfully the first update of many and look forward to the next chapter when more is explained and more plot happens  
> (btw ifyou're still reading this ily and thank you so much)  
> byE <333


	15. #15: Of songwriting and Gardens

Hi Fictional Brian,

It's funny that I'm writing this now; I can barely read through my blurred vision, and emotions are running rampid through my head. Writing always comes easiest to me when I'm not sure what to do. Writing helps me gets my thoughts down onto paper, and maybe to even help gather them.

 

I know I've talked about this before, either on paper or in person, but you know how magical it can be when a song reminds you of a specific time in history? It doesn't even have to be the song itself. Sometimes the mere sound of an artists voice can take you back, or maybe the situation that you imagine when you hear the song, or maybe the words that hit you slowly and build up until there's nothing left to do but feel it as tears run down your cheeks and you're trying to hide from all that you've kept away.

 

Remember when you got that call? And had to leave so quickly? I stayed there thinking it was Nayeon, or someone clearly more important than me, only to find out that it was for a project. The project that was presented today, in our songwriting class.

 

You worked with two other students, and it was one of them that had called you then, asking about which song style you all were going to imitate. I heard that you'd had a wonderful idea, and that's why you left so abruptly. I wasn't so opposed to it when I'd finally found out why you'd left from someone else... Would've been nice to hear it from you, of course, but hearing it from Soonyoung sufficed.

 

These past few weeks, all of our groups have been working so hard; myself with three other people, Kang Hyunggu, Lee Hwitaek, and Choi Junhong. We all like different styles of music and had very different vocal capabilities, but we worked hard and well together. We ended up creating a piece with more latin roots, and rap as well as strong vocals. It took me a lot to give up the songwriting position, though I did check everyone's grammar, but I knew that to write an upbeat song would mean I'd have to give the basic layout of lyrics worth an upbeat song. At this rate, with the feelings ive seemed to be attached to these past few months, I don't think I could handle anything less than a fucking power balad; perhaps an acoustic song as well? Either way, we all cooperated and our project ended up being pretty fire, I must say, and we presented the class period before your group had. My group finished pretty quickly, which the two freshman, Hyunggu and Junhong, were greatful for, as they were more concerned with their second semester finals. Hwitaek and myself also kinda took them under our wings and said that we'd make sure to fine tune the song if they wanted to go study for Gen Chem. It was nice you know? Having to work in separate studios for that many classes. It allowed me to forget a little more each time about where we were and how confused I honestly still am about us. Just like now. I'm rambling while writing cause I don't want to talk about the whole reason behind half the words on this page being smudged. I've been taken for a ride on a rollercoaster and I'm afraid of heights, and even more afraid of falling.

 

At first, I thought that our "presentations" would just be playing the song for everyone in the class to hear from the recording we'd done for our professor, but much to my excitement, I'd sooner found out that the presentation was to be a live performance in the school's auditorium. Again, my group had practiced a ton. We went over each persons part, even switching at times in case one of us forgot the lyrics, or our cue. Our class spent two classes in the auditorium listening to the songs of our peers. The firs was two days ago, and the second was today.

 

Two days ago, we'd all walked up the three small stairs, and I'd grabbed my guitar to play along with the track. Our performance was near flawless, save for a fudged note when I lost focus for a moment. I was lucky though, that it was covered by our track, and my eyes were caught in the spotlights. They say that those who aren't used to spotlights think they can't see a thing, but once you've been in front of them enough, you can start to look for people in the audience. Fictional Brian, you've told me all about all of the times you've been on stage, and that's how I knew.

 

Today, I walked into our class knowing that your group was going to preform your song, and I knew very well that you'd written most of the lyrics, and finalized them. So I sat by myself in the last row of students, one empty seat from the aisle.

 

When I'd heard our professor call your group up to the stage, I wasnt sure what to expect exactly, even as I watched you plug your guitar in, and the others sit behind a piano and drum block. Students in front of me seemed all to familiar with the setup though, and started whispering about their expectations for the song.

"I heard that it's going to be an acoustic song" "Yeah, something with indie roots, right? Probably a love song too."

"I think it was inspired by Ed Sheeran? Or like, one of those American artists."

 

Sitting back in my seat, I suddenly felt more nervous as I watched he'd you prepare to start. It was true that I was in the last row of students, but in a smaller class that meant I was only in the third row. But I was far enough away and to the right that when you looked in my direction and smiled, I knew it had to be for me. No one else in my area made sense. You don't talk to half the people here, and most of the people around me were all younger than us. That smile though, it didn't prepare me like it should've.

 

You strummed a chord, and I suddenly felt like I'd been transported right back to right after I'd found out about you and Nayeon. The sound was so distinctly similar to all of the songs I'd listened to, which didn't make much sense, considering they were all romantic songs that just made me feel that much worse. Yes, you heard it here, I purposely listened to romantic songs, just to make myself feel worse as I imagined impossible scenarios. I'd listen to those songs avidly, and I felt it all again as you, you began to sing.

 

"I'm sorry, now why was that so hard to say back then? Now, no matter how much I yell, you can't hear me." 

 

I felt the lines of the song reach down into my bones and pull any but of soul left straight out of me. Nothing was left of me but a shell as I watched you sing, your fingers flitting across the frets. It wasn't until the chorus though, that I saw it as you turned your head, and looked directly in my eyes, and kept your gaze on mine throughout the rest of the song.

 

"I would hold you, so you won’t be apart from me for even a moment. I would give you my everything. I would have,"

 

It was as I held your gaze that I felt the first few tears start to fall. They fell from my eyes to my feet, where I felt like my heart had been ever since it had fallen so many months ago, and no one bothered to pick it up. My eyes were red and stinging, and all I wanted to do was get out of there, but I had to wait. I had to wait and see how the song finished, and I had to watch you, maybe I could keep a bit more of my composure. Looking back, the training of never walking out while someone is performing probably also had an effect on my choice to stay.

 

The song slowly played all the way through and as I listened to the last few lyrics, your eyes still somehow on mine, I knew that I had to leave.

 

"I would have, I would have, I would have"

 

Letting one more tear fall as I let the lyrics set in, the longing laced within the words and the notes hitting far too close to home, I leaned over to Hwitaek and asked if he'd be alright getting our notes from the professor, and after seeing my face I'm sure he agreed.

 

Because you see, even before I knew that you'd run after me, all I could think of were the lyrics, yearning for a day in the past, that you had so obviously written; a style of song that reminded me of nothing but you, and dear God Fictional Brian, why did your real self have to look at me the way he did for the entire song? Sure, I couldn't look away, but he was supposed to have Nayeon! A beautiful girlfriend for his beautiful self and everything going right because someone like him deserves nothing less. He was supposed to forget about me and never know how I felt. He was supposed to never find out about these fucking letters, and then maybe I'd be able to keep to myself and get over it all.

 

But no, Fictional Brian, your real self caught me as I was passing the garden so conveniently placed outside of the entrance. Grabbing my wrist, he stopped me from running and dragged me to a corner in the garden, where we were entirely hidden by a tree.

 

Looking at me, Brian, you put your hands on my face, but I flinched away, not sure of what was going on, and not sure if I was prepared for it either. Your eyes looked so sure but so, so sad, and I wasn't sure of what to do. I knew not to say anything though, waiting for you to start, clearly having a reason for stopping me and pulling me into the garden.

 

Looking at me; at the tear tracks that had practically become a part of my face, and I'm sure the rush of emotions happening in my eyes, you stepped closer to me again and took one of my hands in yours, and you did something that I honestly never would've guessed in a thousand years. You looked up at me and you apologized slowly,then soon after,

 

"Thank you, Jae. Thank you so much."

 

Now I thought you were insane, since there was absolutely nothing I've done that you could've thanked me for, but you held your ground, and I think I'll remember this for forever.

 

"Thank you for making me realize who I am and accepting it. Thank you for being there for me even though it hurt you so much. Thank you for listening to me, and thank you for not giving up on me."

 

I had to have looked so confused by what you said, so next you tried,

 

"I read your letters."

 

Shocked and so amazingly and thoroughly embarrassed, I tried to pull my hand away from yours, wanting more than anything to just run away and hide for the next hundred years. But you held me there, not relinquishing my wrist for even a second. You looked into my eyes again, clearly pleading for me to stop trying to escape, allowing you the time to explain.

 

You said you never realized that I felt that way, and probably wouldn'tbe unless you'd come across the letters. You said that one day when you'd been over, you'd come across the books that I kept them in, and each time you came over you'd find a new one filled with a few more of them. You said it felt wrong reading them, but didn't stop since they were all addressed to you. But honestly, some of them even mentioned how badly I didn't want you to find out, and yet they were still read...

 

But you said that the portal into my mind was so valuable to you, and that reading them all meant so much to you, and that you've never felt closer to me than after reading them. The disregard for the fact that I poured myself out into the letters was truly amazing. I honestly still can't believe that you read all of my letters. Not even the fact that you read them, but the fact that you did nothing until today. You did absolutely nothing to help me, or to stop me from feeling this way. To stop me from feeling guilty of hope, or thinking of the fact that up until then I'd thought you were taken.

 

But you sat me down on a garden bench, telling me about your favorite parts of the letters, and all the things that you thought were written about well, and all of the parts that made you think. And then, you told me about Nayeon. You told me that she was never real.

 

You told me, that the entire reason I'd felt so guilty for liking you for so long was fake because your parents wanted you to start dating. You told me that Nayeon, your fucking fake girlfriend Nayeon, was actually Bi, and in a relationship of her own, while pretending to be in one with you to get your parents off of your back.

 

Honestly, I'm so happy that that's the case, and that's how it went, but all I can think about right now and then is how much pain I could've avoided if I'd just looked. Because after you told me that, I realized that it made so much sense. It made me realize that it really had been me that you were paying attention to, whether I wanted to believe it or not.

 

You watched me as I thought about all of the things you'd told me, bringing a hand to my face and wiping my tears, waiting for a minute before you looked like you wanted to speak again. However my brain had finally caught up and all I could think about was your song.

 

"So if you're telling me about the letters, and about Nayeon, and all of your favorite parts, then the song you sang in there" I said, weakly pointing to the auditorium, "when you were staring at me the whole time, the song you just sang, did you sing it to me?"

 

And out looked down at our hands on the bench, then slowly up at me, and I could've seen that nod coming from 20 metres away. You looked right at me once again, looking through me almost, and you fucking nodded. You were singing to me.

 

All we did at that point was sit there, both of us not sure where to go from there. I was dying to bring up my feelings for you Brian, but there had to be a reason as to why you'd failed to mention them yet. But all I could think of was the fact that all the words about missed chances and wishing to turn back time, had been aimed at me. All of those beautifully carved notes had been sung for me, and all of it was done by the man who had been sitting right in front of me.

 

Brian, I know you'll read this eventually, now that you know where my hiding spot is, and I hope you know: now that you're reading these, I expect a letter written back to me, explaining all of this. I need justice done to all of the nights I spent by the window, lying awake at 5 am and wondering what it would be like if it had been me that you'd chosen. I need justice done to the fact that I'm in love with you, and I tried so hard to forget that. Call me selfish, and call me what you will, but after today, if you call me "love" that would be just fine too.

 

From then until now, and as far into the future as possible, I love you Fictional ,and now, real Brian. Keep me with you to hold, and I'll keep you with me,

 

Jaehyung

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello ! My readers ! If you're still reading this I love you cause I haven't posted in so long and I'm very sorry.... Please forgive me~ 
> 
> So how about that PLOT   
> This is not the end my friends I do believe about two more chapters are in store, and then to finish off the story in whole I am going to write an open letter from the author to all of you! Which is optional to read of course. 
> 
> Thank you for being here and for all the love you've given the story~   
> Until next time!


	16. #16: Of Continuation and Houses

Hello my love,

It's been about three years since all of this started, but I'm finding myself in another bout of insomnia. I spent my day well, waiting for a special event for six hours, and then coming home. I suppose I'm up because I haven't used my energy, haven't stayed up, haven't been stressed out by a conversation. It's my first time writing to you in awhile, and I'm doing it while you're away for a business project. You're in LA and I'm in New York; though it feels like we couldn't be farther apart.

 

It's kind of strange, holding the pen and paper I used almost ritualistically to write you letters regarding my feelings. Makes me feel like I should be sad, and I almost am, because I miss you in our bed and I can't talk to you much cause of your meetings every day and dinners late into the night. However, I am also aware that you're out there bettering yourself for the benefit of your own and mine, and I'll always support you with a force you couldn't try to measure. It's just usually on these nights that I miss you most, and think of where we used to be and where we came from.

 

I think about the hours I spent awake and crying, the hours I spent thinking about you, and the hours I spent hating myself because I couldn't get over something so simple as love. While we were in the midst of a fight once, you told me that while you usually have to find reasons to break up with me, that night you were looking for reasons not to. You told me that you didn't know if you still even liked me or not. It might've been a slight of words on your part but ever since I've wondered how a single day (or possibly events before) had lead you to not knowing if you liked me. I cried the next day while I was alone and wondered for so long afterwards how it was possible that I can cry because of you so often and write to you and actually hate myself because of you, but remain still within how I love you; but that you could change your mind so quickly, or forget why it is that you loved me. Every time you asked me afterwards if I really loved you I wasn't sure what to say, because I was always afraid that after I'd given you my answer, you'd tell me you forgot why you loved me again. I never asked why that happened the way it did, but after the fight you changed significantly from how you'd been before, and I was satisfied to let it go and continue. I just wanted to know how it was possible that you'd questioned yourself so quickly when I'd spent the better half of stolen nights thinking of ways to stop loving you, and not finding any, despite crying on multiple occasions because of you otherwise. Of course, you know close to none of this, but only because it's in these letters that I feel confident enough to bring up insignificancies. (I realize that's not a word, but you understand the meaning, don't you?)

 

This is not a night of that kind though. I can lie on our bed in our shared apartment and think all I want, but I trust you to come home to me, even if you forget a goodnight text.

 

I suppose I should update the parchment on how the last three years had been spent. We graduated, found jobs, mine an assistant position, and yours just the same. We didn't make much but our salaries combined left us with a small apartment close to downtown. We chose to live together, figuring that it made most sense, and that we'd be okay with affording everything. We went on grocery runs together, you not forgetting that I love to grocery shop with people I like, and we had every Friday night to ourselves. We built a routine that set us into a steady rhythm, and I always knew I'd get to see you. We had breakfast together in the morning, but took different buses. We would meet at a coffee shop after work and debreif eachother on our days when we could, and if we couldn't we'd let eachother know that we'd see them later that night. It was a beautiful Melody we had created, and I got lost in it.

 

Slowly, harmonies were added, and I found myself singing the birthday song to you almost a week after you'd been told you'd been promoted to a manager, and we'd had two ice cream cakes in the freezer to snack on for the month. A minor track breifly took the bridge when I was let go from my company, but as someone who's always loved minor keys, I took the opportunity to seek for better, and found a higher position in a company I'd always appreciated and wanted to work for. When things steadied, we bought a new and larger apartment a bit further from the city and the noise, but still on the subway line.

 

A bubbly and bright Labrador later, and a year or so, I came home exhausted to a vase filled with roses and my favorite flowers, to find you in your casual clothes, with a ring box next to your hand. You told me later that you hadn't heard me come home, but in the moment didn't care as I'd run towards you and hugged you like I hadn't seen you 11 hours before. You kissed me, told me I was the love of your life, and slipped a band on my finger as the lights flickered in your beautiful brown eyes. It was then that I felt safer than I had ever before, so sure, so in love, and you held me like nothing could touch us. I knew we were going to build a life together, and we've done so.

 

We both wanted a smaller affair, our immediate families and some friends we both enjoy the company of. It would cost less out of our Wallets, and give us more time to enjoy the company of people we enjoy being around (rather than inviting all of our weird uncles that can't sit down for longer than 15 minutes at a time).

 

As I'm writing this, I can't help but wonder if you'll find this letter. We live together now, and I don't have places to hide these from you really, but if you found my letters before, you're almost sure to be able to find them now, aren't you?

 

You actually told me how you found my letters before, and I swear it was like a movie sequence. One of my letters had fallen out of my bag from using my school notebook the night before, and you discovered both my insomnia and my feelings, understanding quickly that I was talking about you. You enlisted my sister to go into my room and Snoop around, and read the rest from pictures over the phone. I honestly don't know if I've forgiven her yet, but if you didn't find out, there's no way I would've known you felt differently than my interpretation, so I'm quite thankful, now that I've gotten over the initial embarrassment. I can't believe that this went on under my nose though, it does explain why I'd sworn I wrote a few more letters than I'd retained.

 

Ah yes, and you've also, in the past few years, further explained your situation with Nayeon, and how it went from an initial attraction to nothing, when you discovered you didn't truly have feelings for her. She understood, and actually ended up helping us get together, according to your word Fictional Brian. I still am not sure how I feel about her, but I haven't seen her since we graduated, so I'm not too worried about it.

 

As for the sky, I still look to it at night. When I'm walking home, sometimes I look up and everything else becomes insignificant. The cold I've had for more than a month disappears, and any insecurity I feel slips through my fingers as I watch the red sky like it used to be when I watched out the window. Light pollution still floods the sky, and I think of the time we walked to the top of a hill close to campus and stared across it as the lights of our University were shut off and left us with only stars, our souls, and our bodies. My head hurts each time I look up, as I'm suddenly transported back through my life, all the way to elementary school, when I first laid out on a terrace and watched the night sky, thinking of nothing besides how much my issues didn't matter. I thought of my insignificance as a good friend, reminding me that I can screw up sometimes and the universe won't end. A friendship might split and someone else might leave me, but the stars will still shine and night with still come, and ill be able to stare at them until I fall asleep. I miss it, I need the stars with me now.

 

Almost two and I can feel my legs getting restless. River Flows in You is playing through my headphones and my cold tells me to sleep but my eyes are wide open, and I'm consumed with you.

 

In the grand scheme of things, three years isn't long. Developmentally, perhaps, but we're both adults who know what they want, and have been given three years to learn new things about eachother.

 

I've learned about your food preferences to where I can order for you easily in a restaurant, which is something I've always wanted to do, and I know more about you and where you came from. I know more about your personal philosophy, and I've asked you as many questions as I come up with, your answers often following suit. You still don't quite know how often I stay up late into the night, but you know that the littlest things are how I feel that you love me and care for me, rather than grand gestures.

 

You know that I find love in each touch that's initiated, each goodnight, each time you tell me you love me, each time you offer to get me something, each time you kiss my forehead after I've said or done something you might find cute, each time I put my hand on you and you lean into my touch, and each time you treat me like I have more meaning than any idiom in the world. I like attention and I like physical contact, and I like you, so, so much.

 

You're due to come home tomorrow, and I'm excited to be able to wake up with your arms around me come Monday morning. I'm so excited to see your face as I fall asleep, and watch you as I've woken up (I always wake up before you and I think it's the funniest thing. I remember there were one or two times that you woke up first and kissed my head to wake me up, or simply watched as I slept, having never seen me in a state of peace as similar. I'm usually the last to fall asleep and the first to wake, but when this changes you pride yourself in it. It's the cutest thing.)

 

I love sitting here and writing this, thinking of getting to dance with you to a slow song of our choice. We've accumulated so many songs that we both enjoy over the years, both from friendship and from our relationship, and I can verify that choosing a song for our first dance willbe a difficult task, but I know we will get through it, and if we can't choose, the dance is going to be in the living room of the house were set to buy after the wedding, so with boxes of furniture and our things surrounding us, we can play whatever we'd like.

 

Our wedding is to be on Thursday of next week, keeping Friday as the day for ourselves, according to tradition. We move Saturday and begin our life together on a stronger set, as act two comes to a close, and you leave these letters like you would a show, having them on your mind but excited more than ever for the next. I'll write you letters while we're married too, but to warn you, the first one after our wedding might be tear stained.

 

I cry when I'm overwhelmingly happy, what can I say?

 

To close out this part of my life and this letter to you, for you to find and read if you'd like, I want to say that I love you, and though by this point it seems I don't stop saying it, i say it each time I am compelled, and hell, I am even compelled when you're just standing next to me at a crosswalk. I can't help myself Fictional Brian, I love you, and I can't help that.

 

My best, forever and always,

Park Jaehyung,

Your fiancé

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hath returned with a final chapter, and I am sad to announce that this fic is coming to an end, with a year passed and life changing, it felt only right to finish this off with one last chapter, three years in the future, detailing their lives now.  
> This is the only chaptered fic I've ever finished, and the sense of accomplishment I feel now is unreal. It's been a hell of a semester so far this year, so I apologize for not updating earlier, but I tried to while I was sad, and wrote a long chapter based off of our prize couple not working, so I figured I'd wait for a sight during which I stayed up, and didn't feel less than.  
> I'm currently debating writing an authors note to explain the story and where it came from, as this fic is such a huge part of my life, but I'm not sure how all of you would feel about that. 
> 
> Thank you so much to all of those who have read this over the course of the year and stuck with it, and you mean so much to me. Its bittersweet to see this end after so long, but to continue at this rate would be cruel, and I do believe we have arrived at a lovely destination. I love you all and I hope you enjoyed, in due time I shall greet thee again. 
> 
> (Also I want you all to know that now I cope with my emotions by writing letters to no one out of habit, and that when I first learned about the premise of the book To All the Boys Ive Loved Before I lost my shit because these two had such similar elements. Swear this is all original, and I didn't know about that plot until the movie came out on Netflix earlier this year ! ) 
> 
> Okay, it's reached 02:30 and I do believe I should try to sleep at least. Until the next time my lovelies~

**Author's Note:**

> This is from one insomniac to the next, im excited to start this fic. I’ve been wanting to do an epistolary for the longest time, and now that my writing skills are at an all time low, there’s no better time to start!!! I hope everyone had a lovely holiday season and is looking forward to the new year! If my insomnia treats me right I’m sure I’ll be back soon~   
> Love to you all and it’s 5:27am here so I’m sorry for any mistakes.


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